THE 

LSTRD 


THE 
GRILL 

MYSTERY 


THE  MAELSTROM 


CHIP.  1IMUfir> 


THE 

MAELSTROM 


BY 

FRANK  FROEST 

AUTHOR  OF 
THE  GRELL  MYSTERY 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET    &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPTHIOHT,  1010,  BT 

FRANK    FBOBST 

COPTRIOHT,  1916,  BT 

BDWABD    J.    CLODB 


THE  MAELSTROM 


2129530 


CHAPTER  I 

HALLETT  blundered  into  an  unlit  lamp-post,  swore  with 
fervour,  and  stood  for  a  second  peering  for  some  iden- 
tifiable landmark  in  the  black  blanket  of  fog  that  muf- 
fled the  street.  Where  he  stood,  a  sluggish  dense  drift 
had  collected,  for  following  the  treacherous  habit  of 
London  fogs,  it  lay  in  patches.  About  him  he  could 
hear  ghostly  noises  of  traffic  muffled  and  as  from  afar, 
but  whether  the  sounds  came  from  before  or  behind, 
from  right  or  left,  was  more  than  his  bewildered  senses 
could  fathom. 

For  the  last  ten  minutes  he  had  been  walking  in  a 
spectral  city  among  spectres.  A  by-street  had  trapped 
him  and  no  single  wayfarer  had  come  within  his  lim- 
ited area  of  sight.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  rubbed  his 
head  perplexedly  as  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
was  lost.  It  was  as  though  London  had  set  out  to 
teach  the  young  man  from  New  York  a  lesson.  The 
fog  had  him  beat. 

"  Guess  I  shall  fetch  somewhere,  sometime,"  he  mut- 
tered and  strode  doggedly  on. 

He  had  gone  perhaps  a  dozen  yards  when  from 
ahead  a  quick  burst  of  angry  voices  broke  out.  Then 
there  came  a  running  of  feet  on  the  sodden  pavement. 
Hallett  came  to  a  stop,  listening.  The  fog  seemed  to 
thin  a  trifle. 

[1] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Out  of  the  thickness  the  outlines  of  a  woman's  figure 
loomed  vaguely.  She  was  running  swiftly  and  easily 
with  lithe  grace.  As  she  noted  the  motionless  figure 
of  a  man,  she  swerved  towards  him  and  he  caught  the 
hurried  pant  of  her  breath — caused  rather,  he  judged, 
by  emotion  than  by  exertion.  She  halted  impetuously 
as  she  came  opposite  to  him  and  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  face — the  mobile  face  of  a  girl,  with  parted  lips 
and  arresting  blue  eyes.  She  was  hatless,  and  though 
Hallett  could  not  have  described  her  attire,  he  got  an 
impression  of  some  soft  black  stuff,  clinging  to  a  slim 
figure.  She  surveyed  him  in  a  quick,  appraising  glance, 
and  before  he  could  speak  had  thrust  something  into 
his  hand. 

"  Take  it — run,"  she  gasped,  and  tore  forward  into 
the  fog. 

It  »had  all  happened  in  a  fraction  of  time.  She 
had  checked  rather  than  halted  in  her  flight.  An  ex- 
clamation burst  from  Hallett's  lips,  and  he  was  almost 
startled  into  obedience  of  the  hurried  command.  Then 
heavier  footsteps  thudding  near  brought  him  to  him- 
self. He  moved  to  interrupt  the  pursuer.  As  a  man 
came  into  view,  Hallett's  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

"  One  moment,  my  friend " 

An  oath  was  spat  at  him  as  the  man  wrenched  him- 
self free  and  was  blotted  out  in  gloom.  Hallett 
shrugged  his  shoulders  philosophically,  and  made  no 
attempt  at  pursuit. 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  Alarums  and  excursions,"  he  murmured.  "  Won- 
der what  it's  all  about?  " 

In  nine  and  twenty  years  of  life  Jimmie  Hallett  had 
acquired  something  of  a  philosophy  that  made  him  con- 
tent to  accept  things  as  they  were,  save  only  when  they 
affected  his  personal  well-being.  Then  he  would  sit 
up  and  kick  with  both  feet.  His  lack  of  curiosity  was 
almost  cold-blooded.  There  was  indeed  a  certain  inof- 
fensive arrogance  in  his  attitude  towards  the  ordinary 
affairs  of  life.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  who  would  not 
cross  the  road  to  see  a  dog-fight. 

Yet  he  always  had  a  zest  for  excitement,  providing 
it  had  novelty.  A  man  who  has  scrambled  for  a  dozen 
years  in  a  hotch-potch  of  vocations  retains  little  en- 
thusiasm for  commonplaces.  When  Hallett  Senior 
had  gone  out  from  the  combined  effects  of  a  Wall  Street 
cyclone  and  an  attack  of  heart  failure,  his  son  and  heir 
had  found  himself  with  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  less 
than  nothing.  Young  Hallett  went  to  his  only  surviv- 
ing relative — an  elderly  uncle  with  a  liver — and  with 
the  confidence  of  youth  rejected  the  offer  of  a  cheap 
stool  in  that  millionaire's  office.  He  believed  he  could 
get  a  living  as  an  actor — but  a  five  weeks'  tour  in  a 
fortieth-rate  company,  which  finally  stranded  in  the 
wilds  of  Michigan  convinced  him  of  the  futility  of  that 
idea.  Thereafter  he  drifted  over  a  wide  area  of  the 
United  States.  Farm-hand,  railwayman,  cow-puncher, 
prospector,  and  one  very  vivid  voyage  as  a  deck-hand 

[3] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


on  a  cattle  boat.  It  was  inevitable  that  of  course  he 
should  eventually  drift  into  that  last  refuge  of  the  un- 
skilled intellectual  classes — journalism.  Equally  of 
course  it  was  inevitable  that  fate,  who  delights  to  take 
a  hand  at  unexpected  moments,  should  interfere  when 
he  showed  signs  of  making  a  mark  in  his  profession. 
His  uncle  died  intestate  and  Jimmie  leapt  at  a  bound 
to  affluence  beyond  his  wildest  dreams. 

He  had  stayed  long  enough  in  New  York  after  that 
to  realise  how  extensive  and  variegated  were  the  ac- 
quaintances who  had  stood  by  him  in  adversity.  They 
took  pains  that  he  should  not  forget  it.  And  forthwith 
he  had  taken  counsel  of  Sleath,  the  youthful-looking 
city  editor  of  The  Wire,  who  breathed  words  of  wisdom 
in  his  ear. 

"  Go  to  Europe,  Jimmie.  Travel  and  improve  your 
mind.  Let  the  sharks  forget  you." 

So  Jimmie  Hallett  stood  lost  in  a  fog,  somewhere 
within  hail  of  Piccadilly  Circus,  with  an  unopened  pack- 
age in  his  hand  and  the  memory  of  a  girl's  voice  in  his 
mind.  A  less  observant  man  than  Hallett  could  not 
have  failed  to  perceive  that  the  girl  was  of  a  class  un- 
likely to  be  involved  in  any  street  broil.  The  man 
flattered  himself  that  he  was  not  impressionable.  But 
he  retained  an  impression  of  both  breeding  and  looks. 

He  dangled  the  package — it  was  small  and  light — 
on  his  finger,  and  moved  forward  till  an  electric 
standard  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  examining  it  more 

[4] 


closely.  It  was  closely  sealed  at  both  ends  with  red 
sealing  wax,  but  the  wrapping  itself  had  apparently 
been  torn  from  an  ordinary  newspaper.  He  hesitated 
for  a  moment  and  then  tore  it  open.  He  could  scarcely 
have  told  what  he  expected  to  find.  Certainly  not  the 
thirty  or  forty  cheques  that  lay  in  his  hand.  One  by 
one  he  turned  them  slowly  over,  as  though  the  inspec- 
tion would  afford  some  indication  of  why  they  had  been 
so  unexpectedly  thrust  upon  him.  A  bare  possibility 
that  he  had  been  made  an  unwitting  accomplice  in  a 
theft  was  dismissed  as  he  noticed  that  the  cheques  were 
dead — they  all  bore  the  cancelling  mark  of  the  bank. 
Why  on  earth  should  the  girl  have  been  running  away 
with  the  useless  cheques?  And  why  should  she  have 
so  impulsively  confided  them  to  a  stranger  to  avoid  them 
falling  into  the  hands  of  her  headlong  pursuer? 

Not  that  Hallett  would  have  worried  overmuch  about 
these  problems  had  the  central  figure  been  plain  or 
commonplace.  She  had  interested  him,  and  his  interest, 
once  aroused  in  any  person  or  thing,  was  always  vivid. 

Keen-eyed,  he  scrutinised  the  cheques,  in  an  endeavour 
to  decipher  the  signature.  They  were  all  made  out  by 
the  same  person,  and  payable  to  "  self."  The  name 
he  read  as  J.  E.  Greye-Stratton.  Whoever  J.  E.  Greye- 
Stratton  was  he  had  drawn  within  three  months,  in 
turns  ranging  from  fifty  to  three  hundred  pounds,  an 
amount  totalling — Hallett  reckoned  in  United  States 
terms — more  than  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

[5] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


He  stuffed  the  cheques  into  his  pocket  as  an  idea 
materialised  in  his  mind.  An  opportune  taxi  pushed 
its  nose  stealthily  through  the  wall  of  fog  and  halted 
at  his  hail. 

"  Think  you  can  fetch  a  post-office,  sonny?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Get  you  anywhere,  sir,"  assented  the  driver  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Find  your  way  by  the  stars,  I  suppose,"  com- 
mented Hallett,  the  tingle  of  fog  still  in  his  eyes. 

Nevertheless,  the  driver  justified  his  boast  and  his 
fare  was  shortly  engrossed  with  the  letter  "  G  "  in  the 
London  directory.  There  was  only  one  entry  of  the 
name  he  sought,  and  he  swiftly  transcribed  the  address 
to  a  telegraph  blank. 

"  Greye-Stratton,  James  Edward,  Thirty-four,  Lin- 
stone  Terrace  Gardens,  Kensington,  W." 

Shortly  the  cab  was  again  crawling  through  the  fog, 
sounding  its  syren  like  a  liner  in  mid-channel.  All  that 
the  passenger  could  make  out  was  a  hazy  world,  dotted 
with  faint  yellow  specks,  which  now  and  again  trans- 
formed themselves  into  lights  as  they  drew  near  them. 
Later  the  yellow  specks  grew  less  as  they  swerved  off  the 
main  road,  and  in  a  little  while  the  car  drew  to  a  halt. 

The  driver  indicated  the  house  opposite  which  they 
were  standing,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb,  as  Hallett 
descended. 

"  That's  the  place,  sir." 

[6] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


It  was  little  that  Hallett  could  see  of  the  house,  save 
that  it  was  a  big  old-fashioned  building,  with  heavy 
bow-windows,  and  a  basement,  protected  by  wrought- 
iron  rails.  There  was  no  light  in  any  part  of  the 
house,  not  even  the  hall.  Twice  the  young  man  wielded 
the  big  brass  knocker,  arousing  nothing  apparently  but 
an  echo.  As  he  raised  it  a  third  time,  the  door  was 
thrown  open  with  disconcerting  suddenness,  and  he  was 
aware  of  someone  standing  within  the  blackness  of 
the  hall.  Hallett  could  distinguish  nothing  of  his 
features. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Greye-Stratton,"  said  Hallett, 
and  tendered  a  card. 

The  other  made  no  attempt  to  take  it.  "  He  won't 
see  you,"  he  declared  with  harsh  abruptness,  and  only 
a  sudden  movement  of  Hallett's  foot  prevented  the  door 
being  slammed  in  his  face. 

His  teeth  gritted  together,  and  he  thrust  the  door 
back  and  himself  over  the  lintel.  He  was  an  easy- 
tempered  man,  but  the  deliberate  discourtesy  had 
roused  him  to  a  cold  anger.  "  That  will  do,  my  man," 
he  said,  clipping  off  each  word  sharply.  "  I  want  ordi- 
nary civility,  and  I'm  going  to  see  that  I  get  it.  My 
name  is  Hallett — James  Hallett,  of  New  York.  Now 
you  go  and  tell  your  master  that  I  want  to  see  him 
about  certain  property  of  his  that  has  come  into  my 
hands.  Quick's  the  word." 

There  was  a  pause.    When  the  man  in  the  hall  spoke 

[7] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


again  his  tone  had  changed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr. 
Hallett.  It  is  dark — I  mistook  you  for  someone  else.  I 
am  sure  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  would  have  been  happy 
to  see  you,  but  unfortunately  he  is  ill.  If  you  will  leave 
whatever  you  have,  I  will  see  that  it  reaches  him.  By 
the  way,  I  am  not  a  servant,  I  am  a  doctor.  Gore  is 
my  name." 

Hallett  thrust  his  hand  in  the  pocket  that  contained 
the  cheques.  He  had  no  intention  of  handing  them  over 
without  some  information  about  the  girl  in  black.  And 
he  fancied  he  detected  a  note  of  anxiety  in  the  doctor's 
voice,  as  though,  while  forced  in  a  way  to  civility,  he 
was  anxious  for  the  visitor  to  go. 

"  I  quite  understand,  Dr.  Gore,"  he  said  coldly,  "  I 
will  call  at  some  other  time.  I  should  like  to  return 
the  property  to  its  owner  in  person — for  a  special  rea- 
son. Good-night." 

"  Then  you  will  not  entrust — whatever  you  have  to 
me?" 

"  I  would  rather  see  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  at  some 
future  time."  He  half  turned  to  go. 

"  One  moment."  The  doctor  laid  a  detaining  hand 
upon  his  sleeve.  "  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  my  patient 
unnecessarily,  but  if  you  insist  I  will  arrange  you  shall 
see  him.  Will  you  come  with  me?  I  am  afraid  it  is 
rather  dark.  The  electric  light  has  gone  wrong — • 
frightfully  awkward." 

Hallett  groped  his  way  after  his  guide,  his  brain 
[8] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


busy.  It  was  queer  that  the  light  should  have  given 
out — queerer  still  that  no  apparent  attempt  had  been 
made  at  illumination,  either  with  oil  or  candles.  The 
place  was  deadly  quiet,  but  that  was  only  natural  with 
a  sick  man  in  the  house.  He  wondered  why  some 
servant  had  not  answered  the  door.  A  man  of  less 
hardened  temperament  would  have  felt  nervous. 

The  doctor's  footsteps  falling  with  ghostly  softness 
on  the  carpet  in  front  of  him  ceased. 

"  Here  we  are,  Mr.  Hallett.  Keep  to  your  left. 
This  is  the  room.  If  you  will  wait  here  a  second,  I 
will  see  if  I  can  get  a  light.  Where  are  you?  Give 
me  your  hand." 

Slim  delicate  fingers  gripped  Hallett's  hand  as  he 
followed  the  direction.  He  passed  through  a  doorway 
and  for  a  moment  his  back  was  turned  towards  the 
doctor.  He  heard  something  whirl  in  the  air  and  a 
blow  descended  with  crushing  force  on  his  right  shoul- 
der. He  wheeled  with  a  cry,  but  there  was  no  question 
of  resistance.  A  second  blow  fell,  this  time  better 
directed,  and  a  million  stars  danced  before  his  eyes.  He 
dropped  like  a  felled  ox. 


[9] 


CHAPTER  H 

PUNCTUALLY  at  half-past  six,  the  little  plated  alarm 
clock  exploded  and  Weir  Menzies  kicked  off  the  blankets. 
Punctually  at  seven  o'clock  he  had  breakfast.  Punctu- 
ally at  half-past  seven  he  delved  and  weeded  in  the 
square  patch  of  ground  that  was  the  envy  and  despair 
of  Magersfontein  Road,  Upper  Tooting.  Punctually  at 
twenty-past  eight  he  left  his  semi-detached  house  and 
boarded  a  car  for  Westminster  Bridge. 

There  were  occasions  when  the  routine  was  upset, 
but  it  will  be  observed  that  on  the  whole  Weir  Menzies 
was  a  creature  of  habit.  He  had  all  that  respect  for 
order  and  method  that  has  made  Upper  Tooting  what 
it  is.  From  the  heavy  gold  watch-chain  that  spanned 
his  ample  waist,  to  his  rubicund  face  and  heavy  black 
moustache,  he  wore  Tooting  respectability  all  over  him. 
It  was  a  cause  of  poignant  regret  to  him  that  circum- 
stance prevented  him  taking  any  part  in  the  local  gov- 
ernment of  the  borough.  Nevertheless,  he  belonged  to 
the  local  constitutional  club,  and  was  the  highly  es- 
teemed people's  warden  at  the  Church  of  All  Saints. 
The  acute  observer,  knowing  all  this,  might  have  judged 
him  a  deserving  wholesale  ironmonger. 

And  the  acute  observer  would  have  been  wrong. 

Punctually  at  half-past  nine,  Weir  Menzies  would 
pass  up  a  flight  of  narrow  stone  stairs  at  the  back  of 

[10] 


New  Scotland  Yard  into  the  chief  inspector's  room  of  the 
Criminal  Investigation  Department.  From  his  button- 
hole he  would  take  the  choice  blossom — gathered  that 
day  at  Magersfontein  Road,  Upper  Tooting — place  it 
carefully  in  a  freshly-filled  vase,  exchange  his  well- 
brushed  morning  coat  for  a  jacket  of  alpaca,  place  paper 
protectors  on  his  cuffs,  and  settle  down  on  his  high  stool 
— he  preferred  a  high  stool — to  half  an  hour's  corre- 
spondence. 

Mr.  Weir  Menzies,  churchwarden  of  Upper  Tooting, 
was  in  fact  Chief  Detective  Inspector  Menzies  of  the 
Criminal  Investigation  Department,  New  Scotland 
Yard.  Not  that  he  made  any  secret  of  it.  There  was 
no  reason  why  he  should.  It  is  only  on  rare  occasions 
that  a  detective  needs  to  conceal  his  profession. 

Although  the  residents  of  Magersfontein  Road,  Upper 
Tooting,  knew  that  Mr.  Weir  Menzies  was  an  admira- 
ble churchwarden,  they  had  to  take  his  reputation  as 
a  detective  on  trust.  And  being  constant  subscribers 
to  circulating  libraries,  they  knew  him  as  an  innocent 
fraud.  A  man  something  over  forty,  with  an  increasing* 
waist-line  and  a  ruddy  face,  was  obviously  against  the 
rules  of  all  the  established  authorities.  It  was  only 
understandable  because  he  was  at  Scotland  Yard. 
Everyone  knows  that  official  detectives  are  heavy,  dull, 
unimaginative  fellows,  always  out  of  their  depths,  and 
continually  receiving  the  good-natured  assistance  of 
amateurs,  by  whom  they  are  held  in  tolerant  contempt. 

[11] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Magersfontein  Road,  Upper  Tooting,  would  have 
smiled  broadly  had  anyone  remarked  that  Chief  De- 
tective Inspector  Menzies  held  an  international  reputa- 
tion— that  he  was  held  one  of  the  subtlest  brains  in  the 
service;  that  he  was  a  man  who  had  time  and  again 
shown  reckless  courage  and  audacity  in  bringing  off  a 
coup ;  that  he,  in  short,  had  individuality  and  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  every  resource  at  his  disposal  in  carrying, 
out  any  purpose  to  which  he  was  assigned. 

He  looked  a  commonplace  business  man;  he  was  a 
commonplace  business  man  with  many  of  the  traits  of 
his  class.  He  hated  the  unexpected  and  protested  that 
he  loathed  with  a  fierce  abomination  those  cases  in 
which  he  was  engaged  that  meant  a  departure  from  the 
ordinary  routine.  But  yet  those  cases,  when  they 
arose,  there  was  no  man  more  capable  of  dealing  with 
their  baffling  intricacies  than  he.  He  had  a  faculty  of 
adjusting  himself  to  an  emergency,  of  ruthlessly  dis- 
carding the  superfluous  that  in  twenty-three  years  had 
carried  him  to  within  one  rung  of  the  top  of  the  ladder. 

It  was  shortly  before  midnight.  He  had  returned 
from  a  remote  suburb  where  with  a  corps  of  assistants 
he  had  made  an  entirely  successful  raid  upon  certain 
pickpockets,  who  had  been  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
resident  detectives  to  give  them  any  chance.  It  had  been 
a  triumph  of  organisation  and  vigilance,  and  Menzies 
had  gone  back  to  headquarters  to  arrange  that  the  his- 
tories of  the  birds  he  had  caged  should  be  ready  before 


the  police  court  proceedings  in  the  morning.  He  was 
struggling  into  his  overcoat  when  he  was  summoned  to 
the  telephone.  He  picked  up  the  receiver  irritably. 

"  Hello,"  he  said. 

A  musical  buzz  answered  him,  and  Menzies  allowed 
himself  an  expression  that  should  be  foreign  to  a 
churchwarden.  Then  far  away  and  faint  he  caught  a 
voice.  "  That  Mr.  Menzies  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  impatiently.  "  Speak  up.  Who 
is  it?  What  do  you  want?  " 

A  prolonged  buzz  reached  him.  He  was  conscious  of 
someone  speaking,  but  only  intermittently  could  he 
hear  what  was  said. 

"  Pretty  done  up — buz-z — come  at  once — buz-z — at 
thirty-four — buzz-z — Gardens,  Kensington — buzz-z." 

"  Number,  please?  "  said  a  new  and  distinct  voice. 

"  Blast,"  said  Menzies  simply,  and  put  down  the  tele- 
phone. This  addiction  to  forcible  language  on  occa- 
sions of  annoyance  was  a  constant  regret  to  him  in  his 
more  reflective  moments. 

Jimmie  Hallett's  first  impression  on  awakening  had 
been  that  someone  was  swinging  a  sledge-hammer  ir- 
regularly on  to  his  temples.  He  lay  still  for  a  little, 
wondering  why  it  should  be.  By  and  by  he  sat  up  and 
tried  to  piece  together  the  events  of  the  evening.  His 
head  ached  intolerably,  and  he  found  consecutive 
thought  painful. 

[13] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


It  was  totally  dark,  and  he  could  make  out  nothing 
of  where  he  was.  Then  the  whole  thing  flashed  across 
his  mind  and  he  staggered  rather  uncertainly  to  hifl 
feet  and,  steadying  himself  against  the  wall,  struck  a 
match. 

The  feeble  nicker  showed  him  a  blue  papered  apart- 
ment, furnished  as  a  dining-room.  He  had  been  lying 
just  inside  the  door,  which  he  now  tried.  It  refused 
to  answer  to  his  tug,  and  he  realised  how  weak  he  was 
as  he  all  but  toppled  backwards.  The  match  went  out 
and  he  struck  another. 

Then  it  was  that  he  noticed  an  electric  switch  and 
pulled  it  over.  A  rush  of  light  flooded  the  room  and 
he  tottered  to  one  of  the  Jacobean  armchairs  at  the 
head  of  the  table.  The  sledge-hammer  was  still  swing- 
ing at  his  temples  and  things  swayed  dizzily  to  and 
fro  before  his  eyes.  He  made  a  resolute  effort  to  pull 
himself  together.  His  eyes  roved  over  the  room,  and 
he  noticed  a  pedestal  telephone  on  a  small  table  in  the 
corner  furthest  from  him. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  chap  Pinkerton  gave 
me  an  introduction  to,"  he  muttered,  and  drawing  a 
bundle  of  papers  from  his  breast  pocket,  sorted  them 
till  the  envelope  he  needed  lay  at  the  top. 

Chief  Detective  Inspector  Weir  Menzies* 
New  Scotland  Yard,  S.  W. 

[14] 


Cautiously  the  man  began  to  move  across  the  hearth- 
rug towards  the  telephone.  Four  shambling  steps  he 
took,  then  something  that  had  been  hidden  by  the  table 
tripped  him  and  he  sprawled  on  all  fours.  He  gave 
a  little  gasp  of  horror,  and  steadying  himself  on  his 
knees,  held  his  hands  a  foot  in  front  of  his  face,  gazing 
at  them  stupidly.  They  were  wet — wet  with  blood, 
and  the  thing  that  had  tripped  him  was  the  body  of 
a  man. 

It  is  one  thing  to  be  brought  in  association  at  second- 
hand, so  to  speak,  with  a  crime,  as  are  doctors,  re- 
porters, and  detectives,  but  quite  another  to  be  so 
closely  identified  with  it  as  to  be  an  actor  in  the  drama. 
Hallett  had  seen  violence,  and  even  death  in  his  time, 
but  never  had  cold  horror  so  thrilled  him  as  it  did  now. 
In  ordinary  condition,  with  nerves  previously  unshaken, 
he  would  have  been  little  more  moved  than  a  spectator 
at  a  play — perhaps  even  less  so,  for  real  life  tragedies 
are  rarely  well  stage  managed. 

Circumstances,  however,  had  conspired  to  bring  home 
to  him  the  last  touch  of  terror.  The  sudden  assault, 
the  locked  room,  and  now  the  dead  man,  had  played 
the  mischief  with  his  nerves.  He  could  have  shrieked 
aloud. 

He  wiped  his  hands  on  his  handkerchief,  but  the  stain 
still  remained.  Carefully  he  stepped  over  the  body 
and  made  his  way  to  the  telephone.  His  imagination 
was  beginning  to  work,  and  he  recalled  cases  where  per- 

[15] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


fectly  innocent  men  had  been  the  victims  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  that  had  convicted  them  of  hideous 
crimes.  The  story  of  the  cheques  thrust  upon  him  in 
the  fog  seemed  to  him  ridiculously  unconvincing.  Had 
his  mind  been  less  overwrought,  had  he  been  able  to 
take  a  calmer  survey  of  the  matter,  he  would  probably 
never  have  given  his  own  position  a  thought.  He  fin- 
gered the  telephone  book  clumsily  and  his  mind  reverted 
to  the  coincidence  that  he  should  hold  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to  one  of  the  senior  detectives  of  Scotland 
Yard. 

"  Queer  that  it  should  come  in  so  handy,"  he-  grinned 
feebly,  and  then  weakness  overcame  him, 

He  gave  the  number.  Hours  seemed  to  elapse  before 
he  got  Menzies.  In  a  quick  rush  of  words  he  made  him- 
self known  to  the  detective  and  recited  the  happenings 
of  the  evening.  He  did  not  know  that  barely  a  dozen 
disconnected  words  had  reached  him.  His  strength  was 
waning  and  he  wanted  Menzies  to  know  everything  be- 
fore he  gave  way.  As  he  finished  the  receiver  dropped 
listlessly  from  his  hand,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  Jimmie  Hallett  fainted. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  wire  Weir  Menzies  was  left 
with  one  of  those  harassing  little  problems  that  he 
hated.  It  was  an  irregular  hour — an  hour  when,  he 
had  reckoned  on  being  safely  on  his  way  home.  For 
all  the  insistence  of  the  voice  at  the  telephone,  it  might 
be.  quite  a  trivial  affair.  Menzies  did  not  like  losing 

[16] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


sleep  for  trivialities.  People  in  trouble  are  apt  to  take 
distorted  views  of  the  importance  of  their  difficulties. 
That  is  why  private  enquiry  agencies  flourish. 

He  was  impatient  with  ambiguous  messages.  He 
thought  of  his  well-aired  bed  and  sighed.  But  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  appealed  to  by  name  ultimately  swayed 
him. 

In  two  minutes  he  had  set  in  motion  the  machinery 
which  would  reveal  the  point  from  which  the  voice  orig- 
inated. It  needed  no  complex  reasoning,  no  swift  flash 
of  inspiration:  merely  to  look  up  in  the  Kensington 
directory  a  list  of  thoroughfares  ending  in  "  Gardens," 
and  the  names  of  persons  who  resided  at  the  respective 
thirty-fours. 

"  And  get  a  move  on,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  men.  "  I 
don't  want  to  hang  about  all  night.  Ask  Riddle  to 
come  up  and  'phone  'em  through  to  the  local  people  as 
you  check  'em  off.  Tell  'em  they'll  oblige  me  by  send- 
ing out  as  many  spare  men  as  they've  got  to  ask  at 
each  address  if  anyone  rang  me  up." 

He  adjusted  his  coat  with  precision,  lit  a  cigar,  and 
sauntered  over  to  the  underground  station  opposite. 
Barring  accidents,  the  address  would  be  ready  for  him 
by  the  time  he  reached  Kensington. 

He  was  not  disappointed.  One  of  the  advantages 
which  the  Criminal  Investigation  Department  has  over 
the  individual  amateur  detective,  beloved  by  Magers- 
fontein  Road,  is  the  co-operation  at  need  of  a  prac- 


THE    MAELSTROM 


tically  unlimited  number  of  trained  men.  True,  the  de- 
tective staff  at  Kensington  had  long  since  gone  home, 
since  there  was  no  extraordinary  business  to  detain 
them,  but  in  this  case  a  dozen  ordinary  constables 
served  as  well.  Nine  of  them  had  returned  when  Men- 
zies  walked  in.  There  was  only  one  who  interested  him. 
He  had  reported  that  he  could  get  no  reply  from  Lin- 
stone  Terrace  Gardens. 

"  Did  you  find  who  lives  there?  "  questioned  the  chief 
inspector. 

The  reply  was  prompt.  "  Yes,  sir.  Old  gentleman 
named  Greye-Stratton.  He  lives  alone.  Had  two 
servants  until  last  week,  when  he  sacked  'em  both  be- 
cause he  said  they  had  been  bribed  to  poison  him." 

"  Ah !  "  Menzies  nodded  approval.  "  You've  got 
your  wits  about  you,  my  lad.  Where  did  you  get  all 
this  from?  " 

The  constable  flushed  with  pleasure.  He  was  young 
enough  in  the  force  to  appreciate  a  compliment  from 
the  veteran  detective.  "  The  servant  next  door,  sir," 
he  answered. 

"  That  will  do.  Thank  you."  Menzies  rubbed  his 
hands  with  satisfaction  as  he  turned  to  the  uniformed 
inspector  by  his  side.  "  It  begins  to  sound  like  a  case," 
he  muttered.  All  his  petulance  had  gone.  When  it 
came  to  the  point,  the  man  was  an  enthusiast  in  his 
profession.  "  I'll  get  you  to  come  along  with  me, 
inspector.  It  sounds  uncommonly  like  a  case." 

[18] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  eminent  Tooting  churchwarden,  perched  on  the 
stalwart  shoulders  of  his  uniformed  colleague,  wriggled 
his  way  on  to  the  roof  of  the  porch  with  an  agility  that 
was  justifiable  neither  to  his  years  nor  his  weight.  He 
was  taking  a  certain  amount  of  risk,  if  there  were  no 
serious  emergency  within  the  place,  for  even  a  chief 
detective  inspector  may  not  break  into  a  house  without 
justification. 

He  worked  for  a  while  with  a  big  clasp  knife  on  the 
little  landing  window,  with  a  skill  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  many  of  the  professional  practitioners  who  had 
passed  through  his  hands,  and  at  last  threw  up  the  sash 
and  squeezed  himself  inside. 

"  Wonder  if  I'm  making  a  damned  fool  of  myself, 
after  all?"  he  muttered  with  some  misgiving  as  he 
struck  a  match  and  softly  picked  his  way  along  the  cor- 
ridor. He  was  peculiarly  sensitive  to  ridicule,  and  he 
knew  the  chaff  that  would  descend  on  his  head  if  it 
leaked  out  that  he  had  elaborately  picked  out  and 
broken  into  an  empty  house. 

There  would  be  no  way  of  keeping  the  matter  dark, 
for  every  incident  of  the  night  would  have  to  be  em- 
bodied in  reports.  Every  detective  in  London  keeps  an 
official  diary  of  his  work. 

He  burned  only  one  match  to  enable  him  to  get  his 

[19] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


bearings.  Noiselessly  he  descended  the  stairs  into  the 
hall,  and  his  quick  eye  observed  a  splash  of  light  across 
the  floor.  It  came  from  under  a  doorway.  He  turned 
the  handle  and  pushed.  The  door  resisted. 

"  Locked,"  he  murmured,  and  knocked  thunderously. 
"  Hello  in  there !  Anyone  about  ?  " 

Only  the  muffled  reverberation  of  his  own  voice  came 
back  to  him.  Frowning,  he  strode  to  the  doorway, 
slipped  back  the  Yale  lock,  and  admitted  the  uniformed 
man. 

"  If  I  had  nerves,  Mr.  Hawksley,  this  place  would 
give  me  the  jumps,"  he  observed.  "  There's  something 
wrong  here  and  I  guess  it's  in  that  room.  See,  there's 
a  light  on." 

"  That's  queer,"  commented  the  other.  "  It  could 
only  just  have  been  switched  on.  I  didn't  notice  it  out- 
side." 

"  Shutters,"  said  Menzies.  "  Shutters  and  drawn 
curtains.  Come  on.  I'm  going  to  see  what's  behind  that 
door." 

There  was  no  finesse  about  forcible  entry  this  time. 
Half  a  dozen  well-directed  kicks  shattered  the  hasp  of 
the  lock  and  sent  the  door  flying  open.  Menzies  and 
his  companion  moved  inside. 

For  the  moment  the  blaze  of  the  electric  light  dazzled 
them.  Menzies  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Then 
his  glance  fell  from  the  overturned  telephone  down  to 
the  prostrate  figure  of  Jimmie  Hallett.  He  was  across 

[20] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


the  room  in  an  instant,  and  made  swift  examination  of 
the  prostrate  man. 

"  Knocked  clean  out  of  time,"  he  diagnosed.  "  Help 
me  get  him  on  the  couch.  Hello,  there's  another  of 
'em."  He  had  observed  the  body  on  the  hearth-rug. 

He  bent  over  the  murdered  man  in  close  scrutiny  but 
without  touching  the  corpse.  His  lips  pursed  into  a 
whistle  as  he  marked  the  bullet  wound  that  showed 
among  the  grey  locks  at  the  back  of  the  head.  He 
was  startled  but  scarcely  shocked. 

He  straightened  himself  up.  "  This  looks  a  queer 
business  altogether,  Hawksley.  You'd  better  get  back 
to  the  station.  Send  up  the  divisional  surgeon  and 
'phone  through  to  the  Yard.  They'd  better  let  Sir 
Hilary  Thornton  and  Mr.  Foyle  know.  I  shall  need 
Congreve  and  a  couple  of  men,  and  you'd  better  send 
for  Carless  and  as  many  of  his  staff  as  can  be  reached 
quickly.  They'll  know  the  district." 

The  faculty  of  quick  organisation  is  one  of  the  prime 
qualities  of  a  chief  of  detectives,  and  Menzies  was  at  no 
loss.  The  first  step  in  the  investigation  of  most  great 
mysteries  is  automatic — the  determination  of  the  facts. 
It  is  a  kind  of  circle  from  facts  to  possibilities,  from 
possibilities  to  probabilities,  and  from  probabilities  to 
facts.  But  the  original  facts  must  be  settled  first,  and 
for  any  one  person  to  fix  them  single-handed  is  an  im- 
possibility. 

There  are  certain  aspects  that  must  be  settled  by 


THE    MAELSTROM 


specialists;  there  may  be  a  thousand  and  one  enquiries 
to  make  in  rapid  succession.  Menzies  had  no  idea  of 
playing  a  lone  hand. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  a  steady  stream  of  officials  and 
others  descended  on  the  house,  and  Linstone  Terrace 
Gardens  became  the  centre  of  such  police  activity  as  it 
had  never  dreamed  would  affect  its  austere  respecta- 
bility. 

Men  worked  from  house  to  house,  interviewing 
servants,  masters,  mistresses,  gleaning  such  facts  as 
could  be  obtained  of  the  lonely,  eccentric  old  man,  his 
habits,  his  visitors,  friends,  and  relations.  Inside  the 
house  the  divisional  surgeon  had  attended  to  Hallett 
("  No  serious  injury.  May  come  round  any  moment  "), 
and  waited  till  flash-light  photographs  of  the  room  had 
been  taken  from  various  angles  ere  examining  the  dead 
man.  Draughtsmen  made  plans  to  scale  of  the  room 
and  every  article  in  it.  A  finger-print  expert  peered 
round  searchingly,  scattering  black  or  grey  powder  on 
things  which  the  murderer  might  have  touched.  In  the 
topmost  rooms  Congreve,  Menzies'  right-hand  man,  had 
begun  a  hasty  search  of  the  house  that  would  become 
more  minute  the  next  day. 

Menzies  occupied  a  morning  room  at  the  back  of 
the  house  and  was  deep  in  consultation  with  Sir  Hilary 
Thornton,  the  grizzled  assistant  commissioner,  and 
Heldon  Foyle,  the  square-shouldered,  well-groomed  su- 
perintendent of  the  Criminal  Investigation  Department. 

[22] 


There  was  little  likeness  between  the  three  men,  unless 
it  lay  in  a  certain  hint  of  humour  in  the  eyes  and  a 
firmness  of  the  mouth.  A  detective  without  a  sense  of 
humour  is  lost. 

Now  and  again  Menzies  broke  off  the  conversation  to 
issue  an  order  or  receive  a  report.  Thornton  observed 
for  the  first  time  the  characters  in  which  he  made  a  few 
notes  on  the  back  of  an  envelope. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  knew  Greek,  Menzies,"  he  re- 
marked. 

The  chief  inspector  twiddled  his  pencil  awkwardly. 
"I  use  it  now  and  again,  Sir  Hilary.  You  see,  if  I 
should  lose  my  notes  by  any  chance  it's  odds  against  the 
finder  reading  them.  I  used  to  do  them  in  shorthand, 
but  I  gave  it  up.  There  are  too  many  people  who  un- 
derstand it.  Yes,  what  is  it,  Johnson?  " 

The  man  who  had  entered  held  out  a  paper.  "  Ad- 
dresses of  the  cook  and  housemaid,  sir.  One  lives  at 
Potters  Bar,  the  other  at  Walthamstow." 

"  Have  them  fetched  by  taxi,"  ordered  Menzies 
curtly. 

"Couldn't  you  have  statements  taken  from  them?" 
asked  Hilary  mildly.  "  It's  rather  a  drag  for  women  in 
the  middle  of  the  night." 

Menzies  smoothed  his  moustache.  "  We  don't  know 
what  may  develop  here,  sir.  We  may  want  to  put  some 
questions  quickly." 

While  thus  Menzies  was  straining  every  resource 
[23] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


which  a  great  organisation  possessed  to  gather  together 
into  his  hands  the  ends  of  the  case,  Jimmie  Hallett 
awoke  once  more.  The  throbbing  in  his  head  had  gone 
and  he  lay  for  a  while  with  closed  eyes,  listlessly  con- 
scious of  the  mutter  of  low  voices  in  the  room. 

He  sat  up,  and  at  once  a  dapper  little  man  was  by 
his  side.  "  Ah,  you've  woke  up.  Feeling  better? 
That's  right.  Drink  this.  We  want  you  to  pull  your- 
self together  for  a  little  while." 

"  Thanks.  I'm  all  right,"  returned  Hallett  mechan- 
ically. He  drank  something  which  the  other  held  out 
to  him  in  a  tumbler,  and  a  rush  of  new  life  thrilled 
through  him.  "  Are  you  Mr.  Menzies  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  the  police  divisional  surgeon.  Mr.  Men- 
zies is  in  the  next  room.  Think  you're  up  to  telling 
him  what  has  happened?  He's  anxious  to  know  the 
meaning  of  all  this." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Hallett  grimly,  and  staggered  to  his 
feet.  "  Just  a  trifle  groggy,"  he  added  as  he  swayed, 
and  the  little  doctor  thrust  a  supporting  shoulder  under 
his  arm. 

The  three  in  the  next  room  rose  as  Hallett 
was  ushered  in.  It  was  Foyle  who  sprang  to  assist 
Hallett  and  lifted  him  bodily  on  to  the  settee,  which 
Menzies  pushed  under  the  chandelier.  The  doctor  went 
out. 

"Quite  comfortable,  eh?"  asked  Foyle.  "Let  me 
make  that  cushion  a  bit  easier  for  you.  Now  you're 

[24] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


better.     We  won't  worry  you  at  present  more  than  we 
can  help,  will  we,  Menzies?  " 

The  three  great  detectives,  for  all  that  their  solici- 
tude seemed  solely  for  the  comfort  of  the  young  man, 
were  studying  him  keenly  and  unobtrusively.  Already 
they  had  talked  him  over,  but  any  suspicions  that  they 
might  have  held  were  quite  indefinite.  At  the  opening 
stage  of  a  murder  investigation  everyone  is  suspected. 
In  that  lies  the  difference  between  murder  and  profes- 
sional crime.  A  burglary,  a  forgery,  is  usually  com- 
mitted for  one  fixed  motive  by  a  fixed  class  of  criminal, 
and  the  search  is  narrowed  from  the  start.  A  million- 
aire does  not  pick  pockets,  but  he  is  quite  as  likely  as 
anyone  else  to  kill  an  enemy.  In  a  murder  case,  no  de- 
tective would  say  positively  that  any  person  is  innocent 
until  he  is  absolutely  certain  of  the  guilt  of  the  real 
murderer. 

Hallett,  whose  brain  was  beginning  to  work  swiftly, 
held  out  his  hand  to  the  chief  inspector.  "  Pleased  to 
meet  you,  Mr.  Menzies.  I've  got  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  you  from  Pinkerton.  That's  how  I  came  to  ring  you 
up.  My  name's  Hallett." 

Menzies  shook  hands.  "  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Hal- 
lett. This  is  Sir  Hilary  Thornton — Mr.  Heldon 
Foyle." 

"  And  now,"  said  Jimmie  decisively,  when  the  intro- 
ductions were  done.  "  Do  you  people  think  I  killed  this 
man,  Greye-Stratton  ?  " 

[25] 


The  possibility  had  been  in  the  minds  of  everyone  in 
the  room,  but  they  were  taken  aback  by  the  abruptness 
of  the  question.  Weir  Menzies  laughed  as  though  the 
idea  were  preposterous. 

"  Not  unless  you've  swallowed  the  pistol,  Mr.  Hal- 
lett.  We've  found  no  weapon  of  any  kind.  You  were 
locked  in,  you  know.  Now  tell  us  all  about  it.  I 
couldn't  hear  a  word  you  said  on  the  telephone." 

They  all  listened  thoughtfully  until  he  had  finished. 
Thornton  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  question  at  his  two 
companions  as  the  recital  closed. 

"  Where  are  those  cheques  ?  "  asked  Foyle.  "  They 
may  help  us." 

Hallett  patted  his  pockets  in  rapid  succession. 
"  They're  gone !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They  must  have  been 
taken  off  me  when  I  was  knocked  out." 

"  H'm,"  said  Foyle  reflectively.  "  Can  you  make 
anything  of  it,  Menzies  ?  " 

The  chief  inspector  was  gnawing  his  moustache — a 
sure  sign  of  bewilderment  with  him.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  There's  little  enough  to  take  hold  of,"  he 
returned.  "  Could  you  recognise  any  of  the  people  you 
saw  again,  Mr.  Hallett  ?  the  girl,  the  man  who  was  run- 
ning after  her,  or  the  chap  in  the  house." 

"  I  haven't  the  vaguest  idea  of  what  the  face  of  either 
of  the  men  was  like,"  said  Hallett. 

"  But  the  woman — the  girl?  "  persisted  Menzies. 

Hallett  hesitated.      "  I— I  think  it  possible  that  I 

[26] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


might,"  he  admitted.  Then  an  impulse  took  him. 
"  But  I'm  sure  she's  not  the  sort  of  person  to  be  mixed 
up  in — in " 

The  three  detectives  smiled  openly.  "  In  this  kind  of 
she-mozzle  you  were  going  to  say,"  finished  Menzies. 
"  There's  only  one  flaw  in  your  reasoning.  She  is." 

Wrung  as  dry  of  information  as  a  squeezed  sponge, 
Hallett  was  permitted  to  depart.  The  courtesy  of  Sir 
Hilary  Thornton  supplied  him  with  a  motor-car  back  to 
his  hotel,  the  forethought  of  Menzies  provided  him  with 
an  escort  in  the  shape  of  a  detective  sergeant.  Hallett 
would  have  been  less  pleased  had  he  known  that  that 
same  mentioned  detective  sergeant  was  to  be  relieved 
from  all  other  duties  for  the  specific  purpose  of  keeping1 
an  eye  upon  him.  Weir  Menzies  was  always  cautious, 
and  though  his  own  impression  of  the  young  man  had 
been  favourable  enough,  he  was  taking  no  chances. 

All  through  that  night  Weir  Menzies  drove  his  allies 
hither  and  thither  in  the  attempt  to  bring  the  ends  of 
the  ravelled  threads  of  mystery  into  his  hand.  No  one 
knew  better  than  he  the  importance  of  a  first  hot  burst 
of  pursuit.  An  hour  in  the  initial  stages  of  an  investi- 
gation is  worth  a  week  later  on.  The  irritation  at  being 
kept  out  of  bed  had  all  vanished  now  that  he  was  on 
the  warpath.  He  could  think  without  regret  of  a  com- 
mittee meeting  of  the  Church  Restoration  Fund  the 
following  day  from  which  he  would  be  forced  to  absent 
himself. 

[27] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Scores  of  messages  had  been  sent  over  the  private 
telegraph  and  telephone  systems  of  the  Metropolitan 
Police  before,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  took 
a  respite.  It  was  to  an  all-night  Turkish  bath  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Piccadilly  Circus  that  he  made  his 
way. 

At  nine  o'clock,  spruce  and  ruddy,  showing  no  trace 
of  his  all-night  work  beyond  a  slight  tightening  of  the 
brows,  he  was  in  Heldon  Foyle's  office.  The  superin- 
tendent nodded  as  he  came  in. 

"  You  look  fine,  Menzies.     Got  your  man?  " 

The  other  made  a  motion  of  his  hand  deprecatory  of 
badinage.  "  Nope,"  he  said.  "  But  I've  got  a  line  on 
him." 

Foyle  sat  up  and  adjusted  his  pince-nez.  "  The 
deuce  you  have.  Who  is  he?  " 

"  His  name  is  Errol,"  said  Menzies.  "  He's  a  prodi- 
gal stepson  of  Greye-Stratton,  and  was  pushed  out  of 
the  country  seven  years  ago." 

"  Menzies,"  said  Foyle,  laying  down  his  pince-nez. 
<c  You  ought  to  be  in  a  book." 


[28] 


CHAPTER  IV 

WEIB,  MENZIES  fitted  his  form  to  the  big  armchair  that 
flanked  Foyle's  desk,  and  dragged  a  handful  of  reports 
secured  by  an  elastic  band  from  his  breast  pocket. 
Foyle  snipped  the  end  off  a  cigar  and  leaning  back 
puffed  out  a  blue  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  It's  been  quick  work,  though  I  say  it  myself,"  ob- 
served Menzies  complacently,  "  especially  considering 
it's  a  night  job.  This  night  work  is  poisonous — no 
way  of  getting  about,  no  certainty  of  finding  the  wit- 
nesses you  want,  everyone  angry  at  being  dragged  out 
of  bed,  and  all  your  people  knocked  out  the  next  day 
when  they  ought  to  be  fresh." 

Foyle  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar,  and  a  mischievous 
glimmer  shone  in  his  blue  eyes.  "  It's  tough  luck,  Men- 
zies. I  know  you  hate  this  kind  of  thing.  Now 
there's  Forrester — he's  got  nothing  in  particular  on: 
if  you  like " 

Menzies'  heavy  eyebrows  contracted  as  he  scru- 
tinised his  chief  suspiciously.  Untold  gold  would  not 
have  induced  him  to  willingly  relax  his  hold  of  a  case 
that  interested  him.  "  I'm  not  shifting  any  job  of 
mine  on  to  anyone  else's  shoulders,  Mr.  Foyle,"  he  said 
acidly. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Foyle  imperturbably.  "  Go 
ahead." 

[29] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Menzies  tapped  his  pile  of  statements.  "  As  far  as 
I  can  boil  down  what  we've  got,  this  is  how  it  stands. 
Old  Greye-Stratton  was  a  retired  West  Indian  mer- 
chant— dropped  out  of  harness  eight  years  ago,  and  has 
lived  like  a  hermit  by  himself  in  Linstone  Terrace  Gar- 
dens ever  since.  It  seems  there  was  some  trouble  about 
his  wife — she  was  a  widow  named  Errol  when  he  mar- 
ried her,  and  she  had  one  son.  Five  years  before  the 
crash  there  was  a  daughter  born.  Anyway,  as  I  was 
saying,  trouble  arose,  and  he  kicked  his  wife  out,  sent 
the  baby  girl  abroad  to  be  educated,  and  the  boy — he 
would  then  be  about  twenty — with  his  mother.  Well,  the 
woman  died  a  few  years  after.  Young  Errol  came  down 
to  Greye-Stratton,  kicked  up  a  bit  of  a  shindy,  and  was 
given  an  allowance  on  condition  that  he  left  the  country. 
He  went  to  Canada,  and  thence  on  to  the  States,  and 
must  have  been  a  bit  of  a  waster.  A  year  ago  he  re- 
turned to  England  and  turned  up  in  Linstone  Terrace 
Gardens ;  there  was  a  row  and  he  went  away  swearing 
revenge.  Old  Greye-Stratton  stopped  supplies,  and 
neither  the  lawyers  nor  anyone  else  have  seen  anything 
of  Errol  since." 

Foyle  rolled  a  pencil  to  and  fro  across  his  blotting- 
pad  with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  He  interrupted  with 
no  question.  What  Menzies  stated  as  facts  he  knew 
the  chief  inspector  would  be  able  to  prove  by  sworn 
evidence,  if  necessary.  He  was  merely  summarising  evi- 
dence. The  inference  he  allowed  to  be  drawn,  and  so 

[30] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


far  it  seemed  an  inference  that  bade  fair  to  place  a 
noose  round  young  Errol's  neck. 

"  We  have  got  this,"  went  on  Menzies,  "  from  people 
in  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens,  from  Greye-Stratton's 
old  servants,  from  the  house  agents  from  whom  he  rented 
his  house,  and  from  Pembroke,  of  Pembroke  and 
Stephens,  who  used  to  be  his  solicitors.  Greye-Stratton 
was  seventy  years  old,  as  deaf  as  a  beetle,  and  as  ec- 
centric as  a  monkey.  I  don't  believe  he  has  kept  any 
servant  for  more  than  three  months  at  a  stretch — we 
have  traced  out  a  dozen,  and  there  must  be  scores  more. 
But  it  is  only  lately  that  he  has  taken  to  accusing  them 
of  being  in  a  plot  to  murder  him.  The  last  cook  he 
had  he  made  taste  everything  she  prepared  in  his 
presence. 

"  He  had  no  friends  in  the  ordinary  way  and  few 
visitors.  Twice  within  the  last  year  he  has  been  visited 
by  a  woman,  but  who  or  what  she  was  no  one  knows.  She 
came  evidently  by  appointment  and  was  let  in  by  him, 
himself;  remained  half  an  hour  and  went  away.  Prac- 
tically all  his  business  affairs  had  been  carried  on  by 
correspondence,  and  he  was  never  known  to  destroy  a 
letter.  Yet  we  have  found  few  documents  in  the  house 
that  can  have  any  bearing  on  the  case,  except  possibly 
this,  which  was  found  in  the  grate  of  the  little  bedroom 
he  habitually  used." 

He  extracted  from  the  pile  of  statements  a  square 
of  doubled  glass,  which  he  passed  to  Foyle.  It  con- 

[31] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


tained  several  charred  fragments  of  writing  paper  with 
a  few  detached  words  and  letters  discernible. 

"  J.  E.  Gre.  .  .  .  Will  see  ...  Id  you  .  .  . 
lies  .  .  .  mother  to  her  death  .  .  .  ous  swine  .  .  . 
let  me  hea.  ..." 

"  Errol's  writing?  "  queried  Foyle. 

"  I  haven't  got  a  sample  yet,  but  I've  little  doubt  of 
it.  Now  here's  another  thing.  It  was  Greye-Stratton's 
custom  to  lock  up  the  house  every  night  at  dusk,  himself. 
He  would  go  round  with  a  revolver  and  see  to  every  one 
of  the  bolts  and  fastenings,  and  no  one  was  allowed  in 
or  out  thereafter.  It  was  one  of  the  grievances  of  the 
servants  that  they  were  prisoners  soon  after  four  o'clock 
each  day  in  winter.  And  though  he  always  slept  with 
that  revolver  under  his  pillow,  we  can't  find  it. 

"  There's  another  thing.  Greye-Stratton  had  a  little 
study  where  he  spent  most  of  the  day,  and  there  was  a 
safe  built  in  to  the  wall.  It  may  mean  nothing,  or  any- 
thing, but  the  safe  was  open  and  there  was  not  a  thing 
in  it.  Now  we  have  been  able  to  discover  no  one  who 
has  ever  seen  that  safe  open  before.  It's  curious,  too, 
in  view  of  Hallett's  story  about  the  cheques,  that  we 
have  not  been  able  to  lay  our  hands  on  a  single  thing 
that  refers  to  a  banting  transaction — not  so  much  as 
a  paying-in  book  or  a  bunch  of  counterfoils. 

"  The  doctors  say  the  old  man  was  shot  about  three 
hours  before  we  got  there.  That  would  be  about  half- 

[32] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


past  nine.  I  don't  know  how  Hallett  struck  you,  Mr. 
Foyle,  but  according  to  his  own  account  he  must  have 
arrived  at  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens  at  nine." 

Foyle  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully.  "  You  mean  he 
may  have  been  there  when  the  shot  was  fired." 

Menzies  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  I  don't  know. 
I  own  freely  I  don't  quite  take  in  this  yarn,  and  yet  the 
man  struck  me  as  genuine.  He's  got  good  credentials, 
and  if  he's  mixed  up  with  the  murder,  why  did  he  'phone 
to  me?  " 

"  Search  me,"  said  Foyle.  "  What  about  the  daugh- 
ter? You  said  there  was  a  girl." 

Menzies  stuck  his  thumbs  in  the  sleeve  holes  of  his 
waistcoat.  "  That's  another  queer  point.  She  was 
brought  up  abroad,  and  scarcely  ever  saw  the  old  man. 
Pembroke  says  she  spent  her  holidays  with  an  old 
couple  down  in  Sussex,  to  whom  he  had  instructions  to 
pay  three  hundred  pounds  a  year.  When  she  left  school 
he  had  the  allowance  paid  to  her  direct.  She  had  a 
taste  for  painting  and  was  apparently  quite  capable  of 
looking  after  herself.  For  two  years  she  has  not  called 
or  given  any  instructions  about  it.  He  wrote  Greye- 
Stratton,  who  retorted  it  was  none  of  his  business — 
that  the  allowance  would  be  paid  over  to  his  firm,  and 
that  if  the  girl  did  not  choose  to  ask  for  it,  it  could 
accumulate.  He  did  not  seem  at  all  concerned  at  her 
disappearance.  Take  it  from  me,  Mr.  Foyle,  we  shall 
run  across  some  more  damned  funny  business  before  we 

[33] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


get  to  the  bottom  of  this.  There's  not  even  a  ghost  of 
a  finger-print.  If  only  we  can  find  Errol 

Foyle  was  too  old  a  hand  to  offer  conjecture  at  so 
early  a  stage  of  the  case.  Nor  did  Menzies  seem  to 
expect  any  advice.  Hard  as  he  had  driven  the  investiga- 
tion during  the  night,  the  ground  was  not  yet  cleared. 
Until  he  had  all  the  facts  in  his  possession  it  was  useless 
to  absolutely  pin  himself  to  any  one  line  of  reasoning. 
There  was  now  one  man  who,  en  known  facts,  might 
liave  committed  the  murder.  But  plausible  as  was  the 
supposition  that  Errol  was  the  man,  the  detectives  knew 
that  at  best  it  was  only  a  suspicion.  And  suspicion 
nowadays  does  not  commit  a  man.  It  does  not  always 
justify  an  arrest.  There  must  be  evidence,  and  so  far 
there  was  not  a  scrap  of  proof  that  Errol  had  been 
within  a  thousand  miles  of  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens 
on  the  night  of  the  murder. 

Menzies  went  away  with  his  bundle  of  documents,  to 
have  them  typed,  indexed,  and  put  in  order,  so  that  he 
could  lay  his  hand  on  any  one  needed  at  a  moment's 
notice.  He  was  in  for  a  busy  day. 

Two  advertisements  he  drafted  in  the  sanctuary  of 
his  own  office.  One  was  to  check  Hallett's  own  account 
of  the  evening  before,  and  to  identify,  if  possible,  the 
street  in  which  the  cheques  had  been  forced  on  him. 

"  £1  REWARD.  The  taxi-cab  driver  who,  on  the 

evening  of ,   drove   a   fare   from  the 

[34] 


West  End  to  34,  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens,  Ken- 
sington, will  receive  the  above  reward  on  communi- 
cating with  the  Public  Carriage  Office,  New  Scot- 
land Yard.  S.  W." 

The  other  ran  differently,  and  seemed  to  give  him 
more  trouble.  Several  sheets  of  note-paper  he  wasted, 
and  discontentedly  surveyed  his  final  effort. 

"  If  James  Errol,  last  heard  of  at  Columbus, 
Ohio,  U.  S.  A.,  will  communicate " 

He  crushed  the  sheet  up,  flung  it  in  the  waste-paper 
basket,  and  lifted  a  speaking-tube.  "  Any  newspaper 
men  there,  Green  ?  Right.  Tell  'em  I'll  see  'em  in  half 
an  hour.  Send  me  up  a  typist." 

The  newspaper  press,  if  deftly  handled,  may  be  a 
potent  factor  in  the  detection  of  crime.  Moreover,  the 
ubiquitous  reporter  is  not  to  be  evaded  for  long  by  the 
cleverest  detective  living.  The  wisest  course  is  to  meet 
him  with  fair  words — to  guide  his  pen  where  there  is 
a  danger  of  his  writing  too  much,  and  put  him  on  his 
honour  on  occasion.  Many  a  promising  case  has  been 
spoilt  by  tactless  treatment  of  a  pressman  at  a  wrong 
moment. 

Menzies  dictated  an  account  of  the  murder,  in  which 
he  said  just  as  much  as  he  wanted  to  say  and  not  a  word 
more.  The  conclusion  ran : 

[35] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  The  stepson  of  the  deceased  gentleman,  a  Mr. 
James  Errol,  left  England  for  the  United  States 
many  years  ago,  and  his  present  whereabouts  are 
unknown.  The  police  are  anxious  to  get  in  to  touch 
with  him,  in  order  that  certain  points  in  connection 
with  his  father's  career  should  be  cleared  up." 

The  chief  detective  inspector  knew  that  the  simple 
paragraph  would  throw  into  the  search  for  Errol  the 
energies  and  organisation  of  every  great  newspaper — an 
aid  he  did  not  despise.  It  was  not  intended  as  an  official 
statement.  The  Criminal  Investigation  Department 
does  not  issue  bulletins  officially.  It  was  an  act  of  cour- 
tesy, and  incidentally  a  stroke  of  policy  to  maintain  the 
good-will  of  the  Press.  The  reporters  might  para- 
phrase it  as  they  would. 

He  received  the  newspaper  men  pleasantly,  parried 
their  chaff  and  too  adroit  questions  with  unruffled  good- 
humour,  and  told  them  little  anecdotes  which  had  not 
the  slightest  bearing  on  the  murder  or  Greye-Stratton. 
They  read  the  typewritten  sheets  he  handed  them  greed- 
ily and  cross-examined  him  as  mercilessly  as  ever  he  had 
been  cross-examined  at  the  Old  Bailey.  A  clerk  brought 
a  card  to  him  and  he  read  it  without  a  change  of  coun- 
tenance. 

"  In  a  minute,"  he  said  to  the  waiting  clerk,  and  put 
the  card  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "  Well,  gentlemen, 
you  know  as  much  as  I  do  now.  If  there's  anything  else 

[36] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


you  want  to  know,  just  drop  in  and  see  me  when  you 
like.    Good  morning." 

They  accepted  their  dismissal,  and  he  took  another 
glance  at  the  card.  "  Miss  Lucy  Olney,"  he  read ;  and 
underneath,  written  in  pencil:  "  Peggy  Greye-Stratton." 


'[87] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  early  evening  papers  were  on  the  streets  before 
Jimmie  Hallett  rose,  and  the  inevitable  reporters  had 
established  a  blockade  of  his  hotel.  He  cursed  them 
while  he  shaved.  As  an  old  newspaper  hand  himself, 
he  had  little  taste  to  be  served  up  again  all  hot  and 
spiced  for  the  delectation  of  a  morbidly  hungry 
public. 

He  surveyed  a  salver  full  of  cards  that  had  been 
brought  up  to  him  with  a  scowl.  Vivid  recollections 
came  to  him  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  himself  dealt 
in  "  personal  sketches,"  and  "  personal  statements  "  on 
big  stories,  and  he  began  to  conceive  a  certain  fellow- 
feeling  for  his  long-forgotten  victims.  But  his  chin 
grew  dogged. 

"  I'll  see  'em  in  hell  before  I'll  talk.  Go  away  and 
tell  'em  I'm  dead." 

The  liveried  functionary  who  had  brought  the  cards 
gave  as  near  an  approach  to  a  grin  as  his  dignity  per- 
mitted. "  Yes,  sir,"  he  said  quietly ;  "  they'll  not  be- 
lieve it,  sir." 

Hallett  swung  his  eyes  sideways  to  the  man,  and  his 
hand  slipped  to  his  trousers  pocket.  It  was  no  use 
getting  angry.  "  Say,  what  are  you  getting  out  of  this, 
sonnie?"  he  demanded.  "  It's  all  right.  You  needn't 
answer."  A  bank-note  crackled  between  his  fingers. 

[38] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  If  you  can  clear  out  the  gang  below  this  is  yours. 
It's  more  than  they'll  give  you." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  There'll  be  no  harm  in  telling 
them  you're  in  a  very  critical  condition,  sir,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  If  they've  any  bowels  of  com- 
passion they  won't  worry  a  dying  man.  It  will  stave 
'em  off  for  a  while,  perhaps." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  beyond  a  mild  headache  and 
some  stiffness,  he  felt  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  attentions 
of  his  overnight  assailant.  He  was  uncertain  whether 
that  was  a  tribute  to  the  skill  of  the  divisional  surgeon 
or  to  the  hardness  of  his  skull.  He  inwardly  congratu- 
lated himself  that  the  injury  was  not  a  particularly 
noticeable  disfigurement.  Indeed  a  skillful  brushing  of 
the  hair  almost  hid  it. 

He  descended  to  breakfast  with  an  appetite  that  of 
itself  was  proof  that  his  general  health  remained  un- 
affected, and  discovering  that  there  was  a  back  entrance 
to  the  hotel,  decided  to  make  use  of  it,  lest  some  per- 
tinacious reporter  might  still  be  lingering  in  the  recep- 
tion hall.  He  wanted  to  know  something  of  what  the 
police  were  doing,  and  a  visit  to  Scotland  Yard  seemed 
the  best  way  of  finding  out.  In  the  background  of  his 
thoughts  there  was  perhaps  less  concern  that  a  mur- 
derer should  be  brought  to  justice  than  curiosity  in 
regard  to  the  lady  of  the  fog. 

There  is  a  way,  mostly  used  by  tradesmen,  at  the 
Palatial  Hotel,  which  leads  through  a  narrow  alley  for 

[39] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


fifty  yards  on  to  the  Embankment.  Through  this  Hal- 
lett  sauntered.  He  was  halfway  through  when  a  tap 
on  the  shoulder  caused  him  to  wheel.  He  confronted  a 
slim-built,  shallow-faced  man,  of  lank  moustache  and 
burning  black  eyes. 

"  Pardon,"  he  said.  "  Your  name  is  Hallett?  "  He 
spoke  silkily  and  the  extremely  correct  pronunciation 
of  his  words  showed  that  he  was  neither  English  nor 
American. 

"  Well?  "  demanded  Hallett  shortly.  He  feared  that 
he  had  been  run  down  by  a  reporter  after  all. 

"  You  were  at  the  place  where  this  man  was  killed 
yesterday — eh?"  The  man  shook  a  newspaper  under 
his  face. 

"  Well?  "  said  Hallett  again.  He  had  resumed  his 
walk  but  the  other  was  keeping  pace  with  him. 

A  hand  caught  at  his  arm.  The  burning  black  eyes 
were  within  three  inches  of  his  face.  "  You  know 
who  killed  heem,  eh?"  The  English  had  become  a 
little  less  correct  under  stress  of  some  excitement. 
"  You  have  not  told  the  pol-lice  yet.  You  will  not  tell 
them?" 

Hallett  shook  himself  free  angrily.  "  Look  here,  my 
man,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  propose  to  answer  your  ques- 
tions, so  you  can  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it. 
Now  git." 

The  foreigner's  hand  dropped  to  his  pocket.  He  did 
not  remove  it,  but  pressed  something  hard  through  the 

[40] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


cloth  against  the  young  man's  ribs.  "  You  are  hasty, 
Mr.  Hallett,"  he  remonstrated.  "  You  don't  know  what 
it  is  you  say — what  you're  up  against.  This  is  a  pistol 
you  can  feel  " — he  pressed  it  close — "  and  unless  you 
listen  quietly  I  shall  keel  you  dead.  Understand?  " 

"  Well?  "  said  Hallett  quietly. 

"  You  were  at  the  house.  You  saw  who  killed  the 
old  man?  You  would  know  him  again?  "  The  man  did 
not  wait  for  an  answer.  "  You  must  keep  your  mouth 
shut.  This  is  for  a  warning.  If  you  see  him  again  you 
not  tell — eh?  There  are  many  of  us.  You  will  be 

watched.  And  if  you  split "  A  prod  with  the  pistol 

finished  the  sentence. 

The  theory  that  his  molester  was  a  reporter  had 
long  ago  been  abandoned  by  Jimmie  Hallett.  It  was 
evidently  thought  that  he  had  seen  the  face  of  the  man 
at  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens  and  he  was  to  be  terrorised 
into  silence.  He  had  sense  enough  to  reflect  that  for 
all  the  audacity  of  the  hold-up,  the  threat  of  surveil- 
lance was  bluff — perhaps  even  the  concealed  pistol  was 
bluff.  Not  that  his  actions  would  have  differed  much 
even  had  he  supposed  them  real. 

He  took  a  quick  step  backwards  and  sideways  and 
a  bullet  that  tore  its  way  through  the  cloth  of  the  other 
man's  pocket  told  that  that  part  of  the  story  was  relia- 
ble. Then  Hallett's  knee  was  in  his  back  and  Hallett's 
arms  were  woven  in  a  strangle-hold  about  his  throat. 
The  man  collapsed,  gurgling. 

[41] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


The  whole  business  had  occurred  in  barely  two  sec- 
onds of  time.  As  they  fell  there  was  a  third  arrival. 

"  Hold  him  down  a  minute,  Mr.  Hallett.  That's  all 
right."  The  third  man  possessed  himself  of  the  squirm- 
ing captive's  wrists  and  twisted  them  behind  his  back 
to  Hallett.  Then  he  methodically  and  quickly  ran  his 
hands  through  the  prostrate  man's  clothing,  possessing 
himself  of  a  still  smoking  Derringer  and  a  formidable 
sheath-knife. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Now  this  gentleman  might  get  up. 
We'll  run  him  along  to  King  Street  station  and  see  what 
Mr.  Menzies  has  to  say  about  it." 

Then  Hallett  noted  that  the  man  who  had  come  to 
his  assistance  was  the  liveried  functionary  who  had  ac- 
cepted his  five-pound  note  to  put  off  the  press  men  less 
than  an  hour  ago.  But  he  no  longer  wore  livery.  He 
was  in  quiet,  unassuming  tweeds  and  his  manner  was  not 
exactly  that  which  might  be  expected  from  a  waiter  to 
an  hotel  guest — even  in  the  circumstances. 

He  surprised  Hallett's  look  of  enquiry  and  smiled  as 
he  locked  his  arm  into  that  of  the  prisoner.  "  Detective 
Sergeant  Royal,  sir,"  he  explained.  "  I'll  let  you  know 
all  about  it  later.  What's  your  name,  my  man?  "  He 
shook  his  captive  slightly. 

"  Smeeth — William  Smeeth,"  said  the  man  sullenly, 
and  Royal  winked  at  Hallett. 

"  That's  a  good  old  Anglo-Saxon  name,"  he  said. 
"  Come  along." 

[42] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


It  was  in  the  Criminal  Investigation  office  at  King- 
Street,  while  they  were  awaiting  Menzies,  that  Royal 
gave  his  explanation  with  a  certain  apologetic  tone. 
"  It  was  this  way,  Mr.  Hallett.  You  see,  Mr.  Menzies 
asked  me  to  keep  an  eye  on  you  when  you  were  sent 
home  yesterday.  Of  course  he  thought  you  were  all 
right,  but  it  doesn't  do  to  take  anyone's  say-so  in  our 
trade.  This  is  murder,  you  see,  and  though  it  seemed 
all  right,  you  might  have  forged  or  stolen  the  introduc- 
tion you  had.  We  couldn't  be  sure  your  name  was  really 
Hallett." 

"  And  sandbagged  myself  on  the  back  of  the  head," 
interpolated  Hallett  with  irony. 

Royal  gave  a  shrug.  "  Mr.  Menzies  doesn't  take  any 
risks,  sir.  It  couldn't  do  you  any  harm.  They  know 
me  at  the  hotel  and  that's  how  it  was  I  was  able  to  get 
into  livery  and  walk  into  your  room  pretty  well  as  I 
liked." 

A  new  light  broke  upon  Hallett.  "  I  get  you.  I 
thought  perhaps  I  was  a  bit  fogged  when  I  got  up  and 
had  forgotten  where  I  put  things.  You've  been  search- 
ing my  room." 

Royal's  face  never  shifted  a  muscle.  "  I  don't  admit 
it,  sir.  That  would  be  illegal  without  your  permis- 
sion." 

"  Illegal  or  not,  you  did  it,"  retorted  Hallett.  "  I 
hope  you're  quite  satisfied." 

"  Oh,  there'll  be  no  more  trouble  about  that.  Mr. 
[43] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Menzies  told  me  on  the  telephone  just  now  that  he'd 
cabled  to  the  States  and  they've  put  your  reputation 
straight.  Besides,  there's  what  I  learned  about  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  read  my  letters,"  ventured  Hallett. 
"  No.  Don't  worry  to  soothe  me  down.  I'd  probably 
have  half  killed  you  if  I'd  caught  you  at  it,  but  I'm 
quite  calm  now.  By  the  way,  there  was  a  fiver — 

A  flush  mounted  to  the  temples  of  the  detective  and! 
he  shook  his  head  in  vehement  denial  of  the  implication 
contained  in  the  broken  sentence.  "  I  had  to  take  it  or 
you  might  have  suspected  something.  I  passed  it  on 
to  the  servants  and  told  'em  what  to  do.  I  never  saw 
the  press  people  myself.  Some  of  'em  might  have 
known  me.  When  you  went  down  to  breakfast  I  changed 
my  clothes  and  slipped  a  'phone  message  through  to 
headquarters.  They  told  me  to  hang  on  to  you  till 
Mr.  Menzies  had  seen  you.  You'd  never  have  known 
a  word  about  it  if  it  hadn't  been  for  our  bird  down 
below."  He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
cells. 

Hallett  began  to  appreciate  some  of  the  realities  of 
detective  work.  Before  he  could  make  any  comment, 
Menzies  came  in.  He  nodded  affably  to  the  young 
man. 

"  Morning,  Mr.  Hallett ;  not  much  the  worse  for  last 
night,  I  see.  I've  got  a  little  job  for  you  presently. 
Meanwhile  I  want  to  see  your  friend  down  below.  Like 
to  come  along?  " 

[44] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


He  made  no  apology  for  the  espionage  he  had  set  on 
foot  and  Hallett  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  thrash 
out  the  subject  again. 

"  William  Smith,"  it  seemed,  had  already  been 
searched  with  care  and  thoroughness.  Royal  explained 
to  his  chief  that  nothing  which  would  serve  as  a  hint 
to  who  he  was  had  been  found  on  him — nothing  but 
the  pistol,  nine  cartridges,  and  some  money. 

"  Have  you  looked  for  the  name  of  the  tailor  on  his 
clothes — the  brace  buttons,  the  inside  of  the  breast 
pocket,  the  trousers  band?  "  demanded  Menzies. 

"  Of  course,  sir,"  said  Royal.  He  was  a  trifle  of- 
fended that  it  should  even  be  thought  that  he  had 
neglected  so  elementary  a  precaution.  "  There's  nothing 
— nothing  at  all." 

Preceded  by  a  uniformed  inspector  they  went  down 
to  the  cells.  Smith  looked  up  sullenly  from  the  bench 
on  which  he  was  seated  and  met  Menzies'  gaze  squarely. 
The  detective  chief  was  no  believer  in  Lombroso's  the- 
ories of  physiognomy,  but  he  studied  the  face  intently. 
In  point  of  fact  he  was  analysing  the  features  to  dis- 
cover if  he  had  seen  the  man  before.  He  wanted, 
too,  to  get  some  clue  as  to  the  manner  he  should 
adopt — authoritative  and  official,  or  familiar  and  per- 
suasive. 

"  Well,  sonny,"  he  said  gently.  "  You've  tumbled 
into  a  mess.  Attempted  murder  is  a  serious  business  in 
this  country." 

[45] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Smith  glanced  at  him  blackly  over  his  shoulder. 
Menzies  went  on :  "  Of  course  we  don't  believe  the  cock- 
and-bull  story  you  told  Mr.  Hallett  of  there  being  a 
gang  of  you " 

"You  don't,  eh?"  exclaimed  the  prisoner,  wheeling 
in  sudden  passion  to  face  his  visitors.  "  Then  you  are 
— what  shall  I  say — wooden  blockheads."  He  pointed 
a  long  slender  forefinger  at  each  of  them  in  turn.  "  You  I 
and  you !  and  you ! — I  tell  you,  you  will  be  marked.  I 
failed — but  there  are  others  who  will  not  fail,  if  you 
persist." 

Royal  turned  away  to  hide  a  snigger.  This  kind  of 
melodrama  failed  to  impress  him. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  assented  Menzies  soothingly. 
He  might  have  been  calming  down  a  headstrong  ques- 
tioner at  a  vestry  meeting.  "  But  there  are  a  good 
many  police  officers  in  London.  It  will  take  a  long  time 
to  kill  'em  off.  Now  why  don't  you  be  reasonable,  Mr. 
Smith?" 

"  Pah ! "  interrupted  the  prisoner.  He  spat  on  the 
cell  floor  to  indicate  his  contempt. 

"  You've  shown  you  know  something  about  this  mur- 
der," went  on  Menzies.  "  The  judge  is  pretty  sure  to 
take  that  into  account  one  way  or  the  other  at  your 
trial.  I,  of  course,  should  tell  him  if  you  helped  us. 
It  would  probably  make  a  difference,  you  know." 

The  prisoner  showed  two  rows  of  yellow  teeth  in  an 
unmirthful,  contemptuous  grin.  "  Go  away,  wooden- 

[46] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


head.     I  shall  not  go  to  prison,  but  you  will  die.     You 
don't  know  what  you  call — what  you  are  up  against." 

"  Perhaps  I've  got  an  idea,"  said  Menzies.  His  voice 
changed.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you're  playing  the 
fool,  my  man,"  he  said  sternly,  "  or  whether  you  really 
believe  that  kind  of  wild  talk.  Perhaps  your  friend 
Errol  will  be  able  to  enlighten  us." 

"  Errol  ?  "  said  Smith  blankly.    "  I  know  him  not." 
"  I  hear  you,"  said  Menzies.    "  You  think  over  what 
I've  said,  my  lad.     Meanwhile,  we'll  have  a  doctor  to 
look  at  you." 


[47] 


CHAPTER  VI 

|  MENZIES  let  an  unparliamentary  expression  slip  from 
his  lips  as  the  cell  door  clanged  behind  them.  It  is 
tantalising  to  have  a  piece  of  evidence  drop  into  one's 
lap,  so  to  speak,  and  then  refuse  to  be  evidence.  He  was 
annoyed  because  his  efforts  to  unlock  the  lips  of  the 
prisoner  had  failed.  He  knew  that  if  only  the  man 
could  have  been  induced  to  talk,  days,  possibly  weeks, 
of  heart-breaking  labour  would  be  saved. 

This  fresh  development  had  him  guessing,  as  Jimmie 
Hallett  might  have  said.  Who  was  "  William  Smith  "? 
Why  had  he  threatened  Hallett,  and  even  gone  so  far 
as  to  try  to  carry  his  threat  into  execution?  The  hint 
of  an  organised  conspiracy  to  save  the  murderer  of 
Greye-Stratton  would  have  excited  his  derision  if  it 
had  not  aroused  speculation.  The  secret  societies  in 
England  may  talk  murder  at  times,  but  they  never  seri- 
ously plot  murder  or  carry  out  a  murder.  A  man  who 
perils  his  neck  has  invariably  some  strong,  personal  mo- 

,  tive.  And  when  others  actively  shield  him  they  also  have 
some  motive  other  than  pure  altruism. 

One  person  may  commit  an  irresponsible  act  for  no 
reason;  it  is  even  conceivable  that  two  people  may  act 
in  concert  in  some  insane  crime.  But  here  were  at  least 
three  people  concerned  and  possibly  more — the  woman 
who  had  passed  the  cheques  to  Hallet,  the  murderer  of 

[48] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Greye-Stratton,  and  "  William  Smith."  What  was  the 
link  that  bound  them  all  together?  That  each  was  act- 
ing from  some  powerful  self-interest  he  felt  confident. 
It  might  be  that  there  was  a  community  of  interest,  but 
he  was  sceptic  enough  to  think  that  accidental. 

The  chief  inspector  checked  his  flow  of  thought  with 
a  jerk.  Speculation  without  materials  spelt  a  fixed 
theory — and  to  a  detective  too  early  a  theory  may  be 
fatal.  He  is  apt  to  try  to  prove  his  theory  rather  than 
the  truth. 

He  laid  a  hand  on  Hallett's  arm  as  the  gaoler  inserted 
a  key  in  the  big  steel  door  that  led  to  the  charge  room. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  There  are  a  dozen  people  the  other 
side  of  the  door  waiting  for  us.  I  want  you  to  have  a 
good  look  at  them  when  you  go  in.  If  you  recognise 
any  of  them  I  want  you  to  go  up  and  touch  her." 

"  Her"  repeated  Hallett.  His  pulse  throbbing  unac- 
countably faster.  Menzies  eyed  him  keenly. 

"  You  said  last  night  that  you  would  probably  know 
the  woman  again  who  planted  the  cheques  on  you.  I'm 
relying  on  you,  Mr.  Hallett.  You're  a  man  of  the 
world.  Don't  run  away  with  the  idea  that  a  pretty  face 
can't  be  mixed  up  in  crime." 

"  So  you've  run  her  down.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
before?  Who  is  she?  Does  she  admit  passing  the 
cheques  ?  " 

Menzies  shook  a  forefinger  blandly  at  the  young  man. 
"  I'll  answer  your  questions  some  other  time.  Only  play 

'     [49] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


the  game,  Mr.  Hallett."  He  was  a  shrewd  judge  of 
men,  and  all  along  he  had  been  doubtful  whether  Jim- 
mie's  chivalry  would  be  proof  against  the.  test  to  which 
he  proposed  to  put  it. 

And  Jimmie  himself  was  doubtful.  A  week — a  day — 
ago  he  would  have  ridiculed  the  idea  that  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  seen  only  once,  could  have  swayed  him  in  any  de- 
gree. He  did  not  put  his  thoughts  into  form,  but  he 
wondered  what  the  effect  to  her  of  an  identification 
might  be.  Had  Menzies  any  suspicion  against  her? 
Jimmie  found  himself  arguing  illogically  enough  that  it 
was  impossible.  Menzies'  words  braced  him  as  they 
were  intended  to — come  what  would,  he  would  point  her 
out  if  she  were  in  the  charge  room. 

And  then  the  door  swung  back.  The  charge  room, 
lofty  and  bare,  was  tenanted  by  a  little  group  of  women 
seated  in  a  row,  at  the  lower  end.  Apart  from  them, 
in  the  centre,  by  the  inspector's  tall  desk,  were  a  couple 
of  officers.  A  third  was  leaning  against  the  dock.  The 
chatter  of  voices  ceased. 

"  Take  a  good  look  at  these  ladies,"  said  Menzies' 
suave  voice. 

Jimmie  had  not  needed  more  than  one  glance.  There 
was  a  sufficient  general  resemblance  among  the  army  of 
women,  but  she  was  unmistakable.  She  was  the  second 
from  the  right.  He  had  taken  one  pace  towards  her 
when  her  gaze  met  his.  There  was  nothing  in  it  of  ap- 
peal. It  was  indifferent,  cold,  impassive.  Yet  Hallett's 

[50] 


resolution  wavered.  He  walked  past  her  along  the  row 
and  back  again.  He  felt  himself  a  fool.  There  was  not 
the  faintest  reason  why  he  should  not  identify  her.  She 
was  a  stranger.  She  was  at  least  indirectly  responsible 
for  the  unpleasant  experiences  that  had  beset  him.  She 
was  possibly  concerned  in  a  deliberate  murder.  And 
then  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  her  moisten  her 
dry  lips.  That  was  the  only  trace  of  emotion  she  gave. 

"  It's  no  good,  Mr.  Menzies,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I 
don't  recognise  anyone  here."  He  had  played  poker  in 
his  time  and  his  face  and  voice  were  absolutely  expres- 
sionless. 

Menzies  tapped  a  forefinger  thoughtfully  alongside 
his  nose  and  smiled  ruefully. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  and  Jimmie  fancied  there  was 
an  inner  shade  of  meaning  to  the  words.  "  That  will  do, 
ladies,  thank  you." 

The  women — wives  and  daughters  of  police  officials 
for  the  most  part — separated.  Only  the  girl  of  the 
cheques  remained  behind.  As  the  room  emptied  she 
walked  towards  Menzies. 

"  That's  over,  Miss  Greye-Stratton,"  he  said  cheer- 
fully. "  I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you.  I  want  you 
to  know  Mr.  Hallett — the  gentleman  who  first  called 
our  attention  to  the  death  of  your  father." 

Jimmie  concealed  the  surprise  that  the  name  gave  him. 
Although  there  was  a  certain  touch  of  melancholy  in 
the  oval  face,  there  was  none  of  that  grief  which  might 

[51] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


have  been  expected  in  a  girl  who  had  suddenly  learned 
of  the  murder  of  her  father.  For  a  moment  he  was  re- 
pelled. He  murmured  some  conventional  phrase  of  sym- 
pathy, but  she  swept  it  away  as  though  aware  that  her 
manner  needed  explanation. 

*'  Yes,  this  is  very  dreadful,  Mr.  Hallett,  but  not 
so  dreadful  to  me  as  it  might  have  been.  You  see  I 
scarcely  knew  my  father.  We  were  almost  complete 
strangers." 

"  Miss  Greye-Stratton  called  on  me  at  the  Yard  as 
soon  as  she  heard  of  the  murder,"  interposed  Menzies. 
"  I  thought  it  as  well  in  the  circumstances  that  there 
should  be  no  ground  for  misunderstandings.  You  see 
your  story  of  the  way  the  cheques  came  into  your  pos- 
session is  bound  to  make  talk  when  you  give  evidence 
at  the  inquest.  I  wanted  it  to  be  definitely  clear  that 
Miss  Greye-Stratton  was  not  the  lady  and  she  was  good 
enough  to  consent  to  this  arrangement." 

Hallett  wondered  how  the  diplomacy  of  the  detective 
would  have  got  over  the  difficulty  if  the  girl  had  refused. 
That  she  had  consented  showed  nerve,  for  she  had  not 
known  that  he  would  not  identify  her.  He  was  curious, 
too,  as  to  what  would  have  happened  if  he  had  picked 
her  out.  Would  she  have  been  arrested  on  suspicion? 

"  If  it  had  been  Miss  Greye-Stratton  she  would 
hardly  have  sought  you  out,"  he  remarked. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not,"  said  Menzies  soothingly. 
"  I  never  thought  for  a  moment  that  she  was  the  woman. 

[52] 


One  likes  to  save  anything  in  the  nature  of  scandal, 
though.  I  remember  a  case  where  two  elderly  ladies — 
sisters — living  in  a  country  house  were  attacked  by 
someone  with  a  hammer.  One  was  found  dead,  the  other 
unconscious — she  remained  unconscious  for  weeks.  The 
hammer  was  found  in  an  outhouse  a  hundred  yards  away. 
Now  there  was  a  considerable  amount  of  gossip  and 
the  theory  was  firmly  held  by  dozens  of  people  that  the 
living  sister  had  attacked  the  dead  one.  They  over- 
looked the  fact  that  to  have  done  so  she  must  have 
walked  to  the  place  where  the  hammer  was  found  after 
her  own  injuries  had  been  inflicted.  That's  an  example 
of  what  I  mean." 

The  girl  nodded.  "  I  am  quite  sure  you  only  meant 
to  save  me  possible  future  unpleasantness.  Is  there 
anything  else?  You  have  my  address." 

"  There  is  no  other  way  at  the  moment  in  which  you 
can  help.  As  matters  develop  I  may  call  on  you.  It 
has  been  very  good  of  you " 

She  stretched  out  her  slim  gloved  hand  to  Hallett. 
But  he  was  not  inclined  to  let  her  escape  so  easily.  She 
owed  him  something,  if  only  an  explanation.  "  I  am 
going  your  way,"  he  said  unblushingly.  "  Perhaps  if 
you  don't  mind " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Hallett,"  she  said 
formally. 

Menzies  stroked  his  moustache  and  his  eyes  roved 
sideways  to  his  aide-de-camp,  Royal,  who,  after  an  ab- 

•         [53] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


sence  of  two  or  three  minutes,  had  now  returned.  Royal 
nodded  almost  imperceptibly,  and  the  inspector  said 
good-bye. 

"  By  the  way,  you  had  better  be  at  the  police  court 
at  two,  Mr.  Hallett.  We  shall  charge  this  man  Smith 
today.  I  don't  expect  you'll  be  kept  long.  It  will  be 
purely  formal.  We  shall  apply  for  a  remand." 

Hallett  and  the  girl  went  down  the  steps  to  the  street. 
He  was  conscious  that  though  she  appeared  to  be  gazing 
serenely  in  front  of  her  that  she  occasionally  scru- 
tinised him  with  curious  eyes. 

Not  till  they  were  a  hundred  yards  away  from  the 
police  station  did  either  of  them  speak  again.  Then 
Jimmie  ventured  on  the  ice. 

"  Perhaps  now  you  will  tell  me  what  it's  all  about?" 

"  Oh ! "  she  stopped  and  turned  full  on  him  with 
the  wide-open,  innocent  blue  eyes  of  a  child.  "  So  you 
knew  all  the  time.  I  wasn't  sure." 

"  Wasn't  sure  that  I  knew  you  as  the  girl  in  the 
fog?  » 

"Yes.  Shall  we  walk  on?  We  might  attract  atten- 
tion standing  here.  Why  did  you  do  it?  Why  didn't 
you  denounce  me  ?  " 

Jimmie  twiddled  his  walking-stick.  "  Hanged  if  I 
know,"  he  confessed.  Her  self-possession  rather 
daunted  him.  "  I  thought — that  is — if  you  wanted  to 
you  would  have  explained  the  incident  yourself." 

"  That's  no  reason.  You  didn't  know  me.  There 
[54] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


was  no  earthly  motive.  All  the  same  I  am  grateful  to 
you,  Mr.  Hallett — sincerely  grateful."  She  sighed. 

A  porter  with  a  parcel  under  his  arm  loitered  three 
yards  behind  them.  Ten  yards  behind  him  a. "nut," 
scrupulously  dressed  and  seemingly  conscious  of  nothing 
but  the  beauty  of  his  attire,  swaggered  aimlessly.  Men- 
zies,  as  has  been  said,  was\not  a  man  who  took  anything 
for  granted.  His  arrangements  for  "  covering  "  Peggy 
Greye-Stratton  in  the  event  of  Hallett  not  recognising 
her  had  been  completed  long  before  he  had  confronted 
them  in  the  charge  room. 

Hallett  might  have  guessed — if  he  had  thought  about 
it  at  all.  The  girl  certainly  did  not.  Jimmie  caught 
at  her  last  words. 

"  You  can  prove  that.  Although  we  have  only  been 
formally  introduced  in  the  last  five  minutes,  we  are  not 
exactly  strangers.  Come  and  lunch  with  me.  Then  we 
can  talk.  There  are  several  things  I  want  to  know." 

She  assented,  it  seemed  to  him  somewhat  indifferently. 
He  hailed  a  taxi-cab  and  gave  the  name  of  a  famous 
restaurant.  As  she  sank  back  in  the  cushions  it  was  as 
though  a  mask  had  dropped  from  her  face.  It  had  sud- 
denly become  utterly  weary.  She  gasped  once  or  twice 
as  if  for  breath.  Only  for  an  instant  had  the  mask 
dropped,  but  Hallett  had  seen  and  understood.  The 
girl  was  strained  to  breaking  point,  supporting  her  part 
only  by  strength  of  will. 

What  that  part  was,  and  why  she  was  playing  it,  he 
•  [55] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


was  fixed  in  the  resolution  to  learn.  He  spoke  on  indif- 
ferent subjects  till  lunch  was  over  and  coffee  was 
brought.  Then  he  leaned  a  little  forward  across  the 
table. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  to  you,  Miss 
Greye-Stratton,"  he  said. 

A  smile,  palpably  forced,  appeared  on  the  girl's  face. 
She  twisted  a  ring  on  her  finger  absently.  "  That  is  a 
polite  way  of  bringing  me  to  the  point,  Mr.  Hallett. 
You  have  a  right  to  ask." 

A  sigh  trembled  on  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  became 
absent.  The  man  said  nothing,  but  waited.  Very 
dainty  and  desirable  did  Peggy  Greye-Stratton  seem  to 
him  then.  Yet  he  would  not  have  been  human  if  he  had 
not  had  misgivings.  Her.  very  reluctance  to  speak 
aroused  a  little  spark  of  suspicion  which  he  deliberately 
trampled  under  foot.  A  beautiful  face,  a  high  intelli- 
gence, and  courage — and  all  these  he  knew  she  pos- 
sessed— are  not  necessarily  guarantees  against  crime. 

She  appeared  to  come  to  a  resolve.  "  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  told  Mr.  Menzies,"  she  said  looking  up. 
"  Knowing  what  you  know  it  will  seem  incomplete  to 
you,  but  you  " — she  looked  him  full  in  the  face — "  are 
a  gentleman.  I  trust  you  not  to  question  me  too  far. 
There  are — other  people." 

He,  too,  had  come  to  a  resolve.  "  Tell  me,"  he  said 
levelly,  "  before  you  say  anything  else.  Did  you  have 
act  or  part  in. the  murder  of  your  father?  " 

[56] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


She  stared  at  him  whitely  and  half  rose.  Her  shapely 

throat  was  working  strangely.  "  Do  you  think " 

she  began.  And  then  tensely :  "  No !  no !  no  !  "  Her 
voice  fell  to  a  strained  whisper.  "  Why  do  you  ask  me 

that — if  I  had  known — if  I  could  have  prevented " 

She  was  rapidly  becoming  distraught. 

He  felt  himself  a  cur,  but  he  pressed  home  the  ques- 
tion relentlessly.  "  Do  you  know  who  it  was  that  mur- 
dered your  father?  " 

Her  fair  head  fell  to  her  arms  on  the  table.  Had 
Hallett  known,  he  could  not  have  put  his  questions  at 
a  time  more  likely  to  wring  an  answer  from  her.  All 
that  morning  she  had  borne  herself  before  the  keen  eyes 
of  Menzies  and  his  assistants,  conscious  that  the  slight- 
est falter  might  betray  what  she  did  not  wish  known. 
Her  nerves  were  now  paying  the  penalty.  She  raised  a 
face  torn  with  emotion  towards  Hallett. 

"  God  help  me,"  she  moaned.    "  I  believe  I  do." 


[57] 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  had  expected  the  answer,  and  yet  it  came  to  him  as 
a  shock.  She  was  regarding  him  with  an  expression, 
half  defiant,  half  appealing.  His  eyes  wandered  roundi 
the  room.  He  had  engaged  a  table  that  stood  in  a 
recess  behind  one  of  the  marbled  pillars  and  they  were 
thus  separated  from  the  general  company  in  the  room. 
Their  voices  had  been  low,  but  he  was  afraid  they 
might  have  attracted  attention.  But  no  one  seemed 
to  have  observed  them  and  he  turned  once  more  to 
her. 

Somehow  she  had  repressed  her  weakness.  He  sig- 
nalled to  the  waiter  and  ordered  a  liqueur.  As  she  took 
it  he  observed  that  her  hand  was  perfectly  steady.  And 
yet  but  a  moment  before  she  had  been  on  the  verge  of 
hysterics. 

"  Tell  me  just  what  you  like,"  he  said  simply.  "  Just 
as  much  or  as  little  as  you  like.  You  can  trust  me." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said ;  "  you  are  very  good.  Let 
me  think.  .  .  .  To  begin  with,  you  must  know  my  father 
was  a  very  strange  man.  When  I  was  quite  a  baby  he 
quarrelled  with  my  mother  and  I  was  sent  down  into  the 
country,  where  I  lived  with  an  old  gentleman  farmer 
and  his  wife  named  Dinward.  I  always  understood  that 
I  was  their  child  until  a  few  years  ago — they  never 
spoke  of  either  my  father  or  my  mother.  Once — just 

[58] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


before  I  went  to  school — he  came  to  see  me.  I,  of 
course,  did  not  know  who  he  was. 

"  I  was  sent  to  a  convent  school  at  Bruges,  where  I 
was  brought  up,  coming  home  for  the  holidays — home, 
of  course,  being  in  Sussex.  Occasionally  I  was  brought 
to  London.  I  won't  go  into  all  the  detail  of  my  life  until 
I  left  school — it  wouldn't  interest  you.  All  this  time, 
remember,  I  had  no  knowledge  of  any  relations  but  the 
Dinwards.  When  I  left  school  I  learnt  for  the  first  time 
that  I  was  not  their  daughter.  Mr.  Pembroke,  a  so- 
licitor, came  over  to  Bruges  and  told  me  very  nicely. 
But — acting  on  instructions,  he  said — he  could  give  me 
no  clue  to  my  parents.  There  would  be  three  hundred 
a  year  payable  to  me  quarterly  by  his  firm.  I  was  no 
longer  to  look  to  the  Dinwards  for  support. 

"  Mr.  Pembroke  was  very  nice,  but  he  had  his  instruc- 
tions. I  asked  him  what  I  was  expected  to  do.  *  I  pre- 
sume,' he  said,  '  that  your  benefactor  intends  that  you 
shall  have  enough  to  support  you  respectably.  Think 
over  your  plans  to-night,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  we 
will  talk  it  over  in  the  morning.' 

"  I  did  think  it  over.  You  may  imagine  that  I  slept 
little  that  night.  I  have  a  certain  facility  for  painting 
and  that  seemed  to  me  to  offer  an  outlet  to  ambition.  I 
told  Pembroke  next  day.  He  expressed  neither  ap- 
proval nor  disapproval.  A  cheque  he  said,  would  be 
waiting  for  me  at  the  offices  of  his  firm  on  the  first  day 
of  every  quarter.  He,  offered  to  give  me  introductions 

.[59] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


in  London,  but  I  answered  that  the  only  introduction 
I  needed  was  to  my  parents.  He  shook  his  head  at  me 
a  little  doubtfully  and  that  ended  the  conversation. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  the  world  a  little  before  I  settled 
down  in  London.  I  went  to  see  the  Dinwards,  but  no 
word  could  I  get  from  them  as  to  who  I  really  was. 
They  would  tell  me  nothing. 

"  The  Dinwards  were  troubled  about  me — naturally. 
Of  course  I  promised  to  keep  in  touch  with  them.  I 
changed  my  name.  I  had  been  called  Peggy  Dinward. 
I  became  Lucy  Olney.  That,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Hallett, 
is  the  name  I  still  keep. 

"  The  allowance  I  was  to  receive  seemed  a  tremendous 
fortune  to  me.  I  went  abroad — to  study  art,  I  told  my- 
self. I  went  to  Paris,  to  Rome,  to  Venice,  and  other 
places.  But  the  money  did  not  prove  so  ample  as  I 
expected.  Perhaps  I  was  extravagant.  Anyway,  in 
about  eight  months  I  was  in  London,  determined  to  make 
my  fortune — and  I  still  thought  that  my  art  pointed 
the  way. 

"  You  will  guess  that  I  had  some  troubles.  Art  for 
art's  sake  is  one  thing,  but  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  the 
true  temperament.  I  wanted  recognition,  and  though 
I  could  have  existed  without  the  money  I  wanted 
money  as  a  proof  that  I  was  recognised.  But  no  one 
seemed  to  appreciate  me  as  a  genius.  It  was  difficult 
enough  to  get  dealers  to  take  my  pictures  at  a  price  that 
barely  paid  for  canvas  and  paint.  Then  I  drifted  into 

[60] 


magazine  and  book  illustration  work  and  in  that  I  found 
my  metier.  I  earned  much  more  than  I  really  needed — 
even  without  my  allowance." 

She  fingered  a  serviette  absently  for  a  moment. 
There  was  an  abstraction  in  her  eyes.  Hallett  waited 
without  interruption  for  her  to  resume. 

"  I  have  not  told  you  that  I  have  a  step-brother," 
she  went  on.  "  Indeed  I  did  not  know  it  myself  till  two 
years  ago.  He  is  my  mother's  son  by  her  first  marriage 
and  is  much  older  than  myself.  He  was  sent  abroad 
at  the  time  that  I  was  handed  over  to  the  Dinwards. 
As  I  say,  two  years  ago  he  traced  me  out — I  believe  he 
got  my  assumed  name  and  my  address  from  the  Din- 
wards.  It  was  from  him  that  I  first  learned  who  I  was, 
who  my  father  was,  who  my  mother  was.  He  told  me 
the  whole  terrible  story  of  Mr.  Greye-Stratton's — Ij 
can't  call  him  my  father — break  with  my  mother.  He 
swore  that  she  was  innocent — that  it  was  a  madman's 
fit  of  jealousy  that  broke  up  the  home.  I — I ^" 

Her  throat  worked  and  it  was  some  moments  before 
she  took  up  her  account  again.  "  My  brother  had  only 
recently  returned  to  England,  and  he  told  me  that  his 
first  step  had  been  to  find  me.  He  wanted  me  to  go 
back  with  him  to  Canada.  *  You're  my  baby  sister,' 
he  said,  *  I  have  a  right  to  look  after  you.  There's  only 
you  and  I  now.' 

"  I  can't  express  how  I  felt.  My  quick  anger  against 
my  father  was  less  intense  than  his  long-nursed  hatred. 

[61] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


We  talked  long.  I  refused  his  offer  to  go  back  to 
Canada  and  told  him  that  I  would  never  take  another 
penny  from  my  father.  He  was  against  that.  He 
argued  that  it  was  the  least  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  could 
do  for  me.  When  he  saw  I  was  determined  he  pointed 
out  the  possibility  that  I  might  be  Mr.  Greye-Stratton's 
heiress,  and  that  to  refuse  the  allowance  might  embitter 
him  against  me."  She  flamed  for  a  moment  into  pas- 
sion. "  As  if  I  wanted  anything — anything  from  that 
man. 

"  When  he  left  me  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  do — what 
action  to  take.  I  resolved  to  do  nothing.  After  all, 
when  I  was  in  a  colder  mood,  I  could  see  nothing  that  I 
could  do.  I  could  not  or  would  not  attempt  a  recon- 
ciliation with  my  father.  I  could  not  attempt  the  vindi- 
cation of  my  mother.  I  renounced  the  allowance  and 
things  went  on  as  they  were  before — except  that  I  had 
my  brother. 

"  He  went  back  to  Canada  and  the  United  States. 
Now  and  again  I  had  letters  from  him.  He  had  a  hard 
struggle  to  make  ends  meet." 

Hallett  nodded  mechanically.  Something  in  her  tone 
made  him  begin  to  see  the  brother  in  a  less  sympathetic 
light.  He  blurted  out  the  question  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  "  He  bled — I  mean  he  wrote  to  you  for 
money?  " 

She  winced.  "  Yes.  He  wrote  to  me  for  money.  A 
little  more  than  a  year  ago  he  was  in  England  again." 

[62] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Her  words  came  more  slowly.  "  He  has  stayed  here 
ever  since.  He  called  on  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  and  some- 
thing happened — what  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  there 
were  recriminations,  but  my  brother  told  me  little  but 
that  he  was  now  entirely  without  resources.  Mr.  Greye- 
Stratton  " — Hallett  noted  that  she  persisted  in  the 
formal  mode  of  reference — "  had  cut  off  all  help  from 
him.  I  don't  know  if  Mr.  Menzies  has  said  anything 
to  you  about  my  brother?  "  She  flashed  the  question 
at  him  suddenly. 

"  Not  a  word.  This  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  his 
existence." 

"  I  ask  because  he  questioned  me  closely  about  him. 
M}7  brother  is  a  hard  man,  Mr.  Hallett,  and  his  outlook 
on  life  is  different  from  that  of  the  ordinary  person. 
Circumstances  have  been  against  him.  He  was  driven 
to  find  a  living  as  he  could.  I  want  you  to  remember 
that  if  he  was  desperate  he  was  driven  to  it.  I  helped 
as  far  as  I  could,  but  he  had  heavy  expenses.  He  signed 
my  father's  name  to  some  cheques." 

"  He  committed  forgery  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  cancelled  cheques  came  into  the  hands  of 
— someone  else  who  knew  that  Dick  Errol  was  my 
brother.  He  threatened  to  pass  them  on  to  Scotland 
Yard  and  give  evidence  against  Dick  unless  I  paid. 
Last  night  there  was  an  appointment  made  at  my  flat. 
The  price  he  demanded  was  greater  than  I  could  pay. 
When  he  went  I  followed  him.  I  knew  he  had  the  cheques 

[63] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


on  him  and  I  hoped  that  I  might  find  some  way  to  get 
them  from  him.  Just  before  I  met  you  I  had  appealed 
to  him  again.  He  refused.  He  had  the  cheques  in  his 
hand.  I  snatched  them,  and  when  I  ran  into  you  I 
passed  them  to  you  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  That 
is  all,  Mr.  Hallett." 

"  But  there  is  something  more,"  he  said ;  "  something 
you  have  not  said." 

She  shook  her  head,  her  lips  pressed  tightly  together. 
"  I  have  said  all  I  can — all  I  dare.  You  helped  me,  Mr. 
Hallett,  and  I  have  told  you  more  even  than  I  have  the 
detectives.  It  has  been  a  relief  " — she  sighed — "  to  tell 
anyone." 

Jimmie  was  silenced.  Yet  a  score  of  questions  trem- 
bled on  his  lips.  Trained  to  see  the  weak  points  in  a 
narration,  he  could  not  fail  to  realise  that  there  were 
gaps  in  the  story — gaps  that  needed  filling  before  one 
could  come  to  full  judgment.  She  had  passed  no  hint 
of  the  blackmailer,  the  man  from  whom  she  had  the 
cheques.  That  he  was  closely  linked  with  her  in  some 
manner  he  felt  confident. 

And  then  speculation  was  lost  in  a  rush  of  pity  for 
the  girl  who  had  been  so  unwittingly  dragged  into  a 
maelstrom  from  which  he  could  see  no  way  of  escape. 
That  the  man  Errol  was  a  scoundrel  was  certain  on  her 
own  showing.  He  glimpsed  through  her  reticence  the 
fresh  tragedy  that  his  advent  had  meant  to  her  life. 
Vainly  he  tried  to  see  for  what  purpose  she  was  being 

[64] 


used.  Of  course  Errol  had  been  bleeding  her,  but  there 
was  something  more.  It  came  to  him  suddenly.  She 
knew  the  murderer — she  had  said  so.  Here  was  a  mo- 
tive for  Errol — a  motive  more  powerful  than  revenge 
or  passion.  She  would  stand  to  gain  a  fortune  by 
Greye-Stratton's  death  and  Errol  would  look  to  dabbling 
his  fingers  in  it. 

Yet  this  was  the  man  for  whom  she  was  playing  with 
fire.  He  was  not  very  clear  about  English  legal  methods, 
but  he  conceived  that  in  trying  to  shield  him  she  was 
laying  herself  open  to  suspicion.  He  had  judged  Men- 
zies  acutely.  If  Greye-Stratton's  fortune  were  to  come 
to  her  that  detective  would  leave  nothing  undone  to  be 
absolutely  sure  that  she  had  no  hand  in  the  crime. 
Points  would  arise,  actions  be  revealed  that  would  look 
black  against  her  by  the  very  reason  that  she  had  care- 
fully concealed  them. 

"  Miss  Greye-Stratton,"  he  said  gravely,  "  forgive 
me  for  what  I  am  going  to  say.  I  believe  it  is  a  crime 
here  to  be  an  accessory  after  the  fact.  Do  you  realise 
that?  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wiser  for  your  sake 
— for  your  brother's  sake — to  be  candid  with  the  police? 
Believe  me,  all  that  you  have  told  me  is  sure  to  be 
known  sooner  or  later." 

Her  face  was  irresolute.  "  You  think  they  will  find 
out?  That  it  will  be  worse  because  I  tried  to  conceal 
it?" 

"  I  do.  If  you  ^will  take  my  advice  you  will  come 
[65] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


with  me  to  Menzies  now.  Understand  me.  I  shall  not 
betray  a  word  of  our  conversation  without  your  per- 
mission." 

She  placed  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  rested  her 
chin  in  her  cupped  hands,  staring  across  the  room  in 
reverie.  Presently  she  stood  up. 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  she  said.    "  I  will  think  of  it." 


[66] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

No  effective  detective  organisation  is  dependent  on  one 
man.  Co-operation  is  the  essence  of  all  successful  de- 
tective work  exactly  as  it  is  in  the  carrying  on  of  any 
great  business.  Scotland  Yard  will  throw  a  score,  a 
hundred,  ten  thousand  men  into  an  enterprise,  if  need 
be,  and  everyone  of  them  from  the  supreme  brain  down- 
wards will  have  an  understudy  ready  at  any  moment  to 
pick  up  a  duty  abandoned  from  any  cause.  No  indi- 
vidual is  vital,  though  some  may  be  valuable.  Every 
fact,  every  definite  conclusion  arrived  at  is  on  record. 

That  is  why  Weir  Menzies  found  time  to  cover  the 
case  against  the  pickpockets  he  had  captured  the  pre- 
ceding evening  and  to  return  to  headquarters  to  smoke 
a  quiet  pipe  and  consider  things  in  general.  He  stuck 
his  feet  on  a  desk,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  began 
serenely  to  go  through  the  reports  that  had  accumu- 
lated from  every  point  where  information,  however  re- 
mote, might  have  been  gathered  on  the  Greye-Stratton 
affair. 

He  liked  to  have  the  salient  facts  of  an  investigation 
clear-cut  in  his  mind.  That  often  saved  time  in  an 
emergency,  as  well  as  being  an  aid  to  definite  thinking. 
Presently  he  began  to  make  his  Greek  notes  with  a  stubby 
pencil  on  the  back  of  an  envelope.  Some  of  them  would 
have  surprised  Hallett  had  he  chanced  to  see  them : 

[67] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  Statement  of  P.  Greye-Stratton  clearly  in- 
complete. Knows  much  more  than  she  says.  Cer- 
tain that  Errol  has  been  for  many  months  constant 
visitor  at  her  flat  in  Palace  Avenue.  (Goulds  re- 
port interview  with  maid  at  her  flat.)  Yet  she 
denies  that  she  has  spoken  to  or  been  in  communica- 
tion with  her  brother  for  nearly  a  year.  Lift  at- 
tendant remembers  man  calling  on  her  the  evening 
of  the  murder.  Left  after  short  interview  and  im- 
mediately after  she  went  out  hatless  in  a  hurry." 

He  commenced  a  string  of  question  marks  across  the 
paper.  "  I'll  see  that  lift  man  myself,"  he  murmured, 
and  continued: 

"  It  was  the  maid's  night  out.  Lift  attendant 
does  not  remember  having  seen  man  before,  but 
he  knows  Errol.  Description  vague.  Think  pos- 
sible P.  G.-S.  alarmed.  Must  handle  cautiously 
and  keep  under  constant  surveillance.  If  can  in- 
duce Hallett  to  cultivate  her  may  learn  some- 
thing." 

A  sharp  tap  at  the  door  interrupted  him.  He 
snapped  an  irritable  "  come  in,"  and,  pencil  in  hand, 
surveyed  frowningly  a  young  man  with  a  badly  bruised 
eye. 

"  Well,  Jakes,"  he  demanded  impatiently ;  "  who's 
been  decorating  you?  What's  the  trouble?  " 

[68] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  I  got  this  from  Hallett,  sir.     He " 

Menzies'  feet  dropped  from  the  table  with  a  crash. 
"  What  the  blazes !  Some  muddle,  I'll  be  bound. 
Where's  Gordon?" 

"  Down  below,  sir.     We " 

"  Then  you've  lost  the  girl?  "  He  smacked  an  angry 
fist  down  on  the  table.  "  Oh,  damn  your  explanations. 
I  beg  your  pardon — you  confounded  idiot."  He  sprang 
to  the  door  and  roared  down  the  green-painted  cor- 
ridor :"  Royal !  Royal!" 

That  individual  popped  out  of  a  door  like  a  rabbit 
out  of  a  hole.  "  Come  here,  Royal.  These  two  cab- 
bages have  let  Miss  Greye-Stratton  dodge  'em.  Take 
Smithers  and  get  along  to  her  flat,  No.  74  Palace 
Avenue,  and  see  if  you  can  pick  her  up.  She  may  have 
gone  straight  home,  or  she  may  not.  I've  got  to  come 
there  myself  presently,  but  I'll  hear  what  this  dough- 
witted  jackass  has  got  to  say." 

Ordinarily  Menzies  was  courteous  to  his  underlings, 
but  when  anything  like  stupidity  interfered  with  his 
plans  he  let  himself  go.  "  They  remembered  it  and 
it's  better  than  putting  'em  on  the  M.  R.,"  he  explained 
once  to  a  colleague,  which  was  his  way  of  saying  that  he 
preferred  a  few  hot  words  to  putting  the  culprits  on  the 
morning  report  for  judgment  and  punishment.  "  Only 
I  sometimes  wish  that  I  didn't  swear  so  much  at  them." 

Royal  had  slipped  away  to  carry  out  his  instructions 
with  the  swiftness  of  the  well-trained  man.  Menzies 

[69] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


turned  with  a  snarl  to  the  young  detective,  who  was 
trembling  nervously  and  as  ill  at  ease-  as  any  young 
clerk  "  carpeted  "  before  his  departmental  chief  for  the 
first  time. 

"  Let's  have  it,"  he  said  shortly. 

The  young  man  squared  his  shoulders.  "  They 
lunched  at  Duke's  in  Piccadilly,  sir.  I  went  in  with 
them  but  could  not  get  near  enough  to  hear  what  was 
said.  The  lady  did  most  of  the  talking.  When  they 
came  out  they  walked  towards  Regent  Street.  I  was 
close  behind.  Gordon  about  twenty  paces  behind  me. 
They  turned  into  Regent  Street  and  then  sharp  back 
along  Jermyn  Street.  When  they  reached  St.  James 
Street  he  said  something  to  her  and  came  back  towards 
me.  I  would  have  passed  him,  but  he  caught  me  by 
the  shoulder  and  asked  what  I  meant  by  molesting  a 
lady. 

"  I  pulled  myself  free  and  told  him  I  was  a  police 
officer.  She  had  turned  the  corner  by  this  time.  I 
would  have  gone  on,  but  he  pulled  me  back  again,  and 
Gordon  came  up " 

"  And  stopped  to  see  what  the  matter  was  instead  of 
going  straight  on,"  commented  Menzies  bitterly.  "  I 
know.  Go  on." 

"  He  stopped  to  help  me.  Mr.  Hallett  was  giving 
me  a  fair  rough  house.  It  took  the  two  of  us  to  tackle 
him  properly.  He  kept  it  up  for  about  three  minutes 
and  then  gave  in." 

[70] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  And  by  that  time  the  girl  might  have  been  in  Tim- 
buctoo.  He  put  up  a  plant  on  you  and  you  both  fell 
into  it." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  you  arrest  him?  " 

"  No.  We  thought  it  ought  to  be  reported  to  you 
before  we  did  anything." 

"  That's  the  only  gleam  of  common  sense  you  showed 
in  the  whole  business.  Go  away.  I'll  think  it  over. 
And  the  next  time  you're  shadowing,  young  man,  re- 
member you've  got  to  stick — if  the  heavens  fall  you've 
got  to  stick." 

He  whistled  softly  to  himself  when  the  other  had 
gone.  "  I  thought  as  much.  She's  put  the  comether 
on  him — and  Hallett  is  a  brainy  man." 

He  revolved  the  matter  steadily  in  his  mind  as  he 
walked  to  Palace  Avenue.  Hallett,  if  he  could  be  per- 
suaded, would  be  a  valuable  ally  in  discovering  what 
information  Peggy  Greye-Stratton  had  withheld.  Men- 
zies  used  the  instruments  to  his  hands;  and  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  have  scruples.  If  he  had 
troubled  at  all  to  formulate  the  ethics  of  the  question 
he  might  have  argued  that  when  a  crime  was  committed 
a  person  who  deliberately  withheld  or  evaded  giving 
information  could  not  fairly  object  to  any  means 
adopted  to  break  her  taciturnity.  That  the  role  he 
proposed  allotting  to  Hallett  was  actually  that  of  a 

[71] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


spy  did  not  concern  him.  That  would  be  Hallett's 
own  affair  if  he  accepted  the  commission. 

Royal  appeared  out  of  nowhere  as  he  neared  the 
corner  of  Palace  Avenue.  "  Not  come  back  yet,"  he 
reported  laconically. 

"  Well,  there's  plenty  of  time  yet,"  said  Menzies 
with  a  resignation  that  had  been  conspicuously  absent 
in  his  talk  with  the  delinquent  officer.  "  She's  bound 
to  turn  up.  You'd  better  'phone  for  Gould  to 
relieve  you  and  get  down  to  the  court  to  charge 
Smith." 

He  strolled  on  to  the  block  of  flats,  sent  his  card  in 
to  the  manager  in  a  sealed  envelope,  briefly  explained 
as  much  of  his  errand  as  was  necessary,  and  was  pres- 
ently confronted  with  a  weedy,  pale-faced  youth  who 
nervously  twisted  his  cap  in  his  hands  as  the  detective 
questioned  him.  His  story  varied  nothing  from  the 
statement  Gould  had  put  in. 

"  Now  don't  get  flustered,  old  chap,"  said  Menzies 
with  that  suave  air  he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  wouldn't  know  the  man  again?  Try 
and  think  for  a  moment.  Was  he  tall  or  short,  fat  or 
thin?" 

"  Just  an  ordinary-looking  man,"  said  the  attendant. 
"  I  didn't  pay  any  notice." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Do  you  remember  if  he  had  a 
beard  or  moustache,  or  was  he  clean-shaven?" 

The  youth  wrinkled  his  brows,  and  after  a  moment's 
[72] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


thought  shook  his  head.  "  Couldn't  say,  sir.  I  rather 
believe  he  was  clean-shaven." 

It  was  hopeless  to  try  to  extract  a  description  from 
him.  Menzies  had  expected  as  much.  Observation  is  not 
often  a  natural  gift ;  it  is  a  matter  of  training,  and  many 
and  laborious  are  the  hours  spent  in  teaching  recruits  to 
the  C.  I.  D.  staff  the  art.  He  switched  to  another  point. 

"  When  the  man  came  out  of  her  flat  did  he  seem  in 
a  hurry?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  particularly.    He  rang  for  the  lift." 

"  Didn't  say  anything?  " 

"  Not  to  me.  At  least  he  had  something  in  his  hand. 
He  dropped  it  and  when  it  rolled  down  the  shaft  he 
swore.  I  offered  to  go  and  get  it,  but  he  said  it  didn't 
matter — it  was  only  a  halfpenny." 

"  H'm !  "  Menzies  stuck  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes 
of  his  waistcoat  and  tapped  his  toe  on  the  floor.  "  You 
went  and  made  sure  it  was  only  a  halfpenny  afterwards, 
of  course." 

The  man's  eyes  had  hitherto  not  met  his.  Now  they 
were  fixed  boldly  on  his  face.  "  No,"  he  declared.  "  I 
didn't  think  it  worth  while." 

A  man  may  fail  to  look  one  in  the  face  and  be  per- 
fectly honest  and  truthful.  But  when  such  a  man  does 
do  so  it  is  because  he  has  become  conscious  that  an 
averted  gaze  may  arouse  suspicion.  Menzies  smiled 
under  his  moustache  and  stretched  out  a  hand.  "  Where 
is  it?  "  he  added  quietly.  "  Give  it  to  me." 

[73] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


The  lift  attendant  flushed  and  drew  back.  The 
directness  of  the  demand  had  disconcerted  him.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  I  haven't  got 
anything." 

"That  so?"  said  Menzies  smilingly.  And  then, 
with  a  swift  change  of  voice :  "  Now,  sonny,  don't  let's 
have  any  monkey  business.  You  can't  play  with  me." 

Reluctantly,  as  though  hypnotised,  the  attendant 
thrust  two  fingers  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  slowly  drew 
something  out,  and  placed  it  in  the  detective's  hand. 

It  was  a  plain,  heavy  circlet  of  gold — a  wedding  ring ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

JIMMIE  HALLETT  had  run  into  Weir  Menzies  in  the 
police  court  corridor  after  the  magistrate  had  formally 
remanded  "  William  Smith."  The  detective  threw  up 
his  hands  quickly  in  the  attitude  of  one  parrying  a 
blow. 

"  Don't  hit  me,  Mr.  Hallett,"  he  implored.  "  I've  got 
a  weak  heart." 

Jimmie  grinned  a  little  shamefacedly.  He  had  not 
been  quite  sure  how  the  detective  chief  would  take  the 
assault  on  the  shadowers  of  Miss  Greye-Stratton.  He 
brazened  it  out.  "  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  "  he  demanded. 

Menzies  caught  him  through  the  arm  and  pulled  him, 
into  a  small  room  set  apart  for  consultations  between 
lawyers  and  clients.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  men 
have  got  six  months  for  less  than  you  did  this  after- 
noon. You  can't  knock  police  officers  about  with  im- 
punity, you  know." 

There  was  an  underlying  current  of  seriousness  in 
his  jocular  tone  which  Jimmie  could  not  fail  to  per- 
ceive. He  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair.  "  I'll  see 
you,"  he  said,  adopting  the  language  of  the  poker  table. 
"  What  are  you  driving  at?  " 

"  This."  The  detective  laid  a  thick  forefinger  on  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand.  "  You've  got  sense,  Mr.  Hallett, 

[75] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


and  you've  had  experience.  Now  I've  gone  into  your 
credentials  and  I  believe  you're  straight.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  stand  for  any  funny  business.  I'm  investigat- 
ing a  case  of  murder  and  anyone  that  stands  in  the  way 
is  liable  to  get  hurt.  Now  don't  interrupt.  Let  me 
finish.  I  don't  know  whether  you  were  putting  up  a 
grand-stand  play  after  lunch  to  win  the  girl's  confidence 
or  if  she  talked  you  over." 

He  paused  enquiringly.  Hallett  pressed  his  lips  to- 
gether firmly.  "  Go  on,"  he  said. 

"  Right.  You  were  butted  into  this  at  the  start  and 
I've  tried  to  treat  you  fairly.  Don't  you  forget  mur- 
der's a  dirty  thing,  however  you  look  at  it.  I  don't  say 
Miss  Greye-Stratton's  not  straight,  but  she  knows  a 
deuce  of  a  sight  more  than  she  ought  to — or  than  she's 
telling  us.  She's  got  something  up  her  sleeve.  She's 
no  fool,  for  all  her  pretty  face.  She  seems  to  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  you.  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head,  although  he  had  a  very 
good  idea  what  Menzies  was  going  to  say.  His  face 
was  impassive. 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  the  man  we've  got  below 
tried  to  get  you  this  morning.  You're  an  important 
witness.  She  wants  to  shut  your  mouth  and  to  find  out 
how  much  you  really  do  know." 

Jimmie  laughed  outright.  "  You're  wrong  there. 
She's  not  asked  me  a  single  question.  All  the  talking 
was  on  her  side." 

[76] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Then  he  realised  that  he  had  fallen  into  a  trap. 
Not  that  Menzies  gave  any  obvious  indication  of  tri- 
umph. He  merely  stroked  his  moustache  serenely. 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I'm  far  wrong.  She  wouldn't 
be  too  quick.  So  she  talked,  did  she?  What  did  she 
say?" 

The  young  man  was  not  to  be  caught  off  guard  a 
second  time.  "  It  will  all  be  stale  to  you.  She  repeated 
what  she  said  she  had  already  told  you." 

"  All  the  same,  there  may  be  something  new,"  per- 
sisted the  detective.  "  Let's  have  it." 

"  If  you  like  to  let  me  have  a  look  at  her  statement 
I'll  tell  you  if  there's  anything  fresh  I  can  add,"  parried 
Jimmie. 

Menzies  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  I  think  I  see,"  he 
said.  "  I'd  consider  this  a  lot  if  I  were  you.  Why,  man, 
can't  you  see  she's  playing  with  you.  Confidence  for 
confidence  is  an  old  trick.  She  has  known  you  a  matter 
of  hours,  and  here  she  is  pitching  a  tale  to  you  as 
though  you  were  an  intimate  friend.  I  trust  you — you 
trust  me !  That's  what  it  comes  to.  Now  why  not  play 
our  game  instead  of  hers.  If  she's  innocent  you  won't 
hurt  her,  but  if  she's  got  her  pretty  fingers  in  the 
tar " 

Hallett  became  conscious  of  a  smouldering  rage  at  the 
innuendo  of  the  comfortable,  ruddy-faced  detective.  He 
did  not  realise  that  he  was  being  deliberately  provoked 

[77] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


for  a  purpose.  Menzies  wanted  to  discover  without 
doubt  his  attitude  to  the  girl. 

"  Cut  it  out,"  he  advised  curtly.  And  then  more 
quietly:  "I  think  you  entirely  misjudge  the  lady.  If 
I've  only  known  her  for  a  few  hours,  I  guess  I'm  a  better 
judge  of  her  type  than  you." 

"  Bearings  a  bit  hot,  eh?  "  smiled  Menzies.  "  It's  no 
good  getting  angry  with  me.  I'm  clumsy,  but  I  mean 
well.  I  hate  to  see  a  man  stepping  into  trouble.  And 
you'll  find  trouble  on  your  hands  pretty  soon,  believe 
me.  If  I  were  you  I  think  I'd  carry  a  life-preserver 
or  advertise  that  you  didn't  see  the  man  who  killed 
Greye-Stratton." 

Hallett  had  taken  a  quick  turn  or  two  about  the 
room,  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  trousers  pockets.  He 
came  to  a  sudden  halt.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

Weir  Menzies  had  a  well-worn  briar  pipe  in  one  hand 
and  a  tobacco  pouch  in  the  other.  He  methodically 
filled  the  pipe  before  answering.  "  Only  from  what  I 
have  gathered  the  lady's  in  with  a  tough  mob.  I'll  know 
more  about  'em  by  to-morrow,  but  I  don't  want  you 
laid  out  before  I've  picked  up  all  the  ends.  I've  warned 
you.  You  must  do  as  you  like.  Only  don't  go  believ- 
ing she's  a  little  blue-eyed  saint,  that's  all." 

Jimmie's  temper,  held  in  till  now,  continued  to  rise. 
Whether  it  was  the  implication  that  he  was  being  made 
Miss  Greye-Stratton's  cats-paw,  or  the  suggestion  that 
the  radiant  girl  was  the  willing  accomplice  of  a  gang 

[78] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


of  criminals,  he  did  not  stop  to  analyse.  He  was  wroth 
with  Menzies  because  he  did  not  know  by  intuition  what 
was  plain  to  him — that  if  she  was  acting  a  part  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  someone  else.  He  regretted  now  that 
he  was  bound  not  to  divulge  anything  she  had  told  him. 

"  I  guess  you're  a  fool,  Menzies,"  he  sneered. 
"  You're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree." 

Menzies  took  the  handle  of  the  door.  "  You  think  so, 
do  you?  Well,  we'll  let  it  go  at  that."  He  swung  the 
door  open.  "  I  suppose  the  lady  told  you  she  was 
married?  " 

He  spoke  casually  as  though  by  an  after-thought, 
but  he  was  quick  to  observe  the  change  that  passed  over 
Jimmie's  face.  "  That's  a  lie,"  he  blurted  out. 
"  You've  got  something  at  the  back  of  your  head." 

The  detective  swung  the  door  to  again  and  took  some- 
thing from  his  pocket.  "  Look  at  that,"  he  said,  and 
smoothed  a  sheet  of  paper  before  Hallett's  eyes. 

Jimmie  read  it  over  twice,  unable  at  first  to  com- 
pletely grasp  its  significance.  It  was  an  attested  copy 
of  a  marriage  certificate  between  Peggy  Greye-Stratton 
and  Stewart  Reader  Ling. 

"  She  didn't  tell  you  about  this,"  went  on  the  de- 
tective levelly.  "  That  may  alter  your  idea  that  she 
intends  to  play  straight  with  you." 

Jimmie  was  struggling  with  a  tangle  of  thoughts. 
"  Who  is  Ling?  "  he  demanded. 

"  A  crook  of  the  crookedest.    He  ran  a  wholesale  fac- 

[79] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


tory  for  forged  currency  notes  in  the  United  States 
ten  years  ago.  That  was  broken  up  and  he  did  five 
years  in  Sing  Sing.  He  has  been  at  the  back  of  a  lottery 
swindle  since  he  came  out  and  Lord  knows  what  else. 
We'd  lost  sight  of  him  till  I  happened  to  get  hold  of 
this  copy.  That's  the  kind  of  man  who's  the  husband 
of  Miss  Greye-Stratton." 

"  How  did  you  find  this  out?  " 

Menzies  puffed  reflectively.  He  had  no  intention  of 
completely  exposing  his  hand.  He  was  certain  that 
Peggy  Greye-Stratton  was  the  woman  who  had  given 
Hallett  the  cheques  and  that  the  latter  had  deliberately 
refrained  from  identifying  her.  Moreover,  he  was  also 
convinced  that  she  had  told  the  young  man  something 
at  lunch,  though  whether  she  was,  as  he  affected  to  be- 
lieve, using  him  as  a  tool  he  was  not  in  his  own  mind 
certain.  The  more  he  considered  the  more  he  felt  that 
she  held  the  key  to  the  mystery  if  only  she  could  be 
induced  to  speak.  With  him,  with  any  official  of  police, 
she  would  be  on  her  guard.  Hallett,  if  he  could  be  per- 
suaded, was  the  one  man  who  might  win  her  confidence 
without  exciting  suspicion.  So  long  as  his  sympathies 
remained  with  her  he  was  unlikely  to  be  persuaded. 
Therefore,  if  possible,  his  sympathies  had  to  be 
alienated. 

"  Just  common  sense,"  growled  Menzies,  "  ordinary 
common  sense.  I  learned  that  she  had  a  wedding-ring 
— though  she  didn't  wear  it — sent  up  to  Somerset 

[80] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


House  to  inspect  the  registry  of  marriages,  and  got  this 
half  an  hour  ago."  He  laid  a  hand  gently  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder.  "  Better  do  as  I  advise.  Any- 
way, take  care  of  yourself." 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  moved  softly  out 
of  the  room.  He  was  wise  enough  to  know  when  to 
stop.  To  say  more  might  be  to  spoil  things.  Hallett 
might  safely  be  left  to  his  own  reflections. 

Hallett  was  a  man  whose  brain  as  a  rule  worked 
very  clearly.  But  now  he  was  confused,  and  he  strove 
vainly  to  reconcile  reason  with  inclination.  It  seemed 
ages  since  the  episode  of  the  fog,  years  since  he  had 
looked  into  the  pale  oval  of  Peggy  Greye-Stratton's 
face  at  lunch.  Spite  of  the  convincing  proof  of  the 
marriage  certificate,  he  could  not  think  of  her  as  a  mar- 
ried woman.  Anyway,  he  told  himself,  if  Menzies  was 
right  in  that  it  did  not  follow  that  all  his  inferences  were 
right.  He  had  felt  the  ring  of  honesty  in  the  story  she 
had  told  him.  And  yet  the  idea  of  the  detective  was 
plausible  enough.  He  could  see  where  things  dove- 
tailed. If  she  were  stringing  him  she  had  been  acute 
enough  to  tell  him  a  series  of  half-truths.  If  she  were 
a  willing  accomplice,  as  Menzies  supposed,  there  was 
reason  enough  why  she  should  mislead  him.  He  had 
met  female  adventuresses  before — pretty,  cultivated 
women,  some  of  them — but  he  had  not  been  impressed 
by  them  as  he  had  been  by  her.  But  then  the  circum- 
stances were  different. 

[81] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


He  pondered  the  matter  as  he  drove  back  to  his 
hotel.  Suppose  he  did  accept  Menzies'  version — and 
he  admitted  to  himself  that  there  was  a  considerable 
weight  of  probability  in  that  point  of  view.  He  could 
not  see,  however,  why  in  that  event  he  should  become 
an  unpaid  amateur  detective.  The  thought  of  spying 
on  Peggy  Greye-Stratton,  adventuress  or  not,  was  en- 
tirely distasteful  to  him.  He  had  no  interest  in  the 
investigation.  He  had  been  dragged  into  the  affair 
entirely  by  accident.  Let  the  police  do  their  work 
themselves. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  arrived  at  his  hotel  and 
repulsed  the  newspaper  men  who  were  still  blockading 
the  entrance.  He  avoided  the  public  rooms.  He  wanted 
to  be  alone.  He  went  up  to  his  private  sitting-room. 

There  it  was  that  a  note  was  brought  to  him.  He 
tore  it  open  and  glanced  at  it  mechanically.  But  at 
once  his  interest  was  aroused.  It  had  been  scribbled 
in  pencil,  apparently  in  haste : 

"  I  am  in  trouble.  For  God's  sake  come  and 
help  me.  I  don't  know  to  whom  else  to  appeal. 
Call  at  140  Ludford  Road,  Brixton,  as  soon  as 
you  can,  but  alone.  Ask  for  me." 

There  was  no  signature,  but  Hallett  needed  none. 
He  had  never  seen  Peggy  Greye-Stratton's  writing,  but 
the  small,  neat  characters  were  beyond  doubt  to  him. 

[82] 


His  resolution  to  stand  aside  was  already  being  put  to 
the  test.  He  held  the  note  in  his  hand  while  he  recalled 
Menzies'  warnings.  He  was  an  important  witness.  Al- 
ready one  attempt  had  been  made  to  secure  his  silence. 
Was  this  a  trap? 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  girl  was  being  used 
to  secure  his  silence,  she  could  not  know  that  he  had 
changed  his  decision  to  stand  by  her.  She  must  sup- 
pose— the  conversation  at  lunch  would  have  made  her 
believe — that  he  had  allied  himself  on  her  side.  No, 
the  letter  was  certainly  genuine. 

He  impressed  the  address  on  his  memory,  and  tearing 
the  letter  into  little  bits,  dropped  them  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket.  Then  he  searched  in  his  kit-bag  till  he 
found,  at  the  bottom,  a  small  automatic  revolver  and  a 
packet  of  cartridges.  He  loaded  the  weapon  carefully 
and  dropped  it  in  his  jacket  pocket. 

He  had  no  idea  where  Brixton  was,  but  a  study  of 
a  street  map  gave  him  its  location.  He  did  not  want 
to  have  to  ask  questions.  He  had  come  to  have  too 
much  respect  for  Menzies'  methods  in  following  up  a 
trail  for  that.  For  the  same  reason,  when  he  went  out 
into  the  Strand  he  turned  abruptly  in  his  walk  once  or 
twice. 

The  useful  little  book  of  maps  issued  by  the  Under- 
ground railways  helped  him  on  his  next  course.  He 
went  into  a  tube  station  and  booked  for  Hampstead.  At 
Leicester  Square  he  changed  for  Piccadilly  Circus. 

[83] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


There  he  changed  for  Kennington  Oval.  By  the  time 
he  emerged  into  the  sunlight  he  was  satisfied  that  if 
there  had  been  any  shadowers  on  his  trail  he  had  thrown 
them  off. 

He  had  selected  the  Oval  Station  because  the  map 
had  shown  him  that  the  district  lay  on  the  verge  of 
Brixton.  He  was  about  to  hail  a  taxi  when  his  eye 
caught  the  label  on  one  of  the  big  electric  cars  swing- 
ing by.  He  jumped  aboard. 

Ludford  Road  proved  to  be  a  quiet  road  of  small 
houses  buried  away  at  the  back  of  Brixton  Town  Hall. 
It  was  a  street  that  might  very  well  have  been  inhab- 
ited solely  by  moderate  salaried  city  clerks — retired, 
unobtrusive,  and  respectable  semi-detached  villas  with 
neat  squares  of  gardens  behind  iron  railings.  It  was 
no  street  of  mystery. 

Hallett  walked  to  the  door  of  No.  140  and  pressed 
the  bell.  It  opened  promptly,  revealing  a  plump,  pleas- 
ant-faced little  woman  with  shrewd  eyes  and  a  strong 
mouth.  Jimmie,  whose  right  hand  had  been  gripped 
round  the  automatic  in  his  jacket  pocket,  removed  it 
hurriedly  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Olney,  if  I  may,"  he  said. 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "  You  have  made  a  mis- 
take. There's  no  one  of  that  name  lives  here,"  she 
said,  and  Jimmie's  last  shred  of  suspicion  vanished.  If 
the  note  had  been  sent  for  a  trap  there  was  evidently 
no  anxiety  for  him  to  walk  into  it. 

[84] 


"  Pardon  me.  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  I  should  have 
said.  My  name  is  Hallett." 

She  smiled  and  flung  the  door  wide.  "  Oh,  yes.  She 
is  expecting  you.  Will  you  come  in?  " 

Jimmie  passed  into  the  narrow  little  hall  and  the 
door  shut. 


[85] 


CHAPTER  X 

WITH  the  satisfied  feeling  of  a  man  who  knew  he  had 
earned  his  salary,  Weir  Menzies  betook  himself  home- 
wards. As  he  boarded  the  Tooting  electric  car  at  the 
corner  of  Westminster  Bridge  he  automatically  shut 
out  from  his  mind  all  thought  of  Greye-Stratton.  He 
had  ceased  to  be  Weir  Menzies,  chief  inspector  of  the 
Criminal  Investigation  Department.  He  was  Weir 
Menzies,  Esq.,  of  Magersfontein  Road,  Upper  Tooting, 
who,  like  other  gentlemen  of  business,  left  his  business 
worries  behind  him  at  the  office. 

He  ate  his  dinner,  while  Mrs.  Menzies,  a  motherly 
little  woman  who  never  asked  questions,  retailed  the 
latest  domestic  gossip.  He  added  his  own  quota.  He 
was  afraid  that  Browns,  the  new  butcher  in  the  High 
Street,  was  not  doing  too  well.  As  he  pushed  his  chair 
back  and  lit  a  cigar,  Mrs.  Menzies  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  of  a  calamity. 

"  Bruin's  been  in  mischief.  He  dug  a  big  hole  under 
that  Captain  Hayward  rose  today." 

This  news  roused  Menzies.  He  kicked  off  his  slip- 
pers and  began  relacing  his  boots.  "  That  da — shed 
dog.  I'll  bet  he's  ruined  it.  We'll  have  to  chain  him 
up.  Ring  the  bell  and  ask  Nellie  for  a  candle,  will  you, 
dear?  " 

Candle  in  hand,  he  led  the  way  to  the  garden,  mut- 
[86] 


tering  discontentedly  as  he  cast  its  glow  on  the  damage. 
He  raised  his  voice.  "  Bruin,  here,  Bruin,"  and  a  heavy 
bobtailed  sheep  dog  came  lumbering  over  the  lawn. 
Weir  Menzies  regarded  him  sternly  and  pointed  an  ac- 
cusing finger  at  the  hole.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?"  he  demanded.  "You  wicked,  wicked  dog." 
Bruin  sprawled  with  downcast  head,  his  whole  attitude 
one  of  penitence  and  shame.  "Where's  the  whip?" 
asked  Menzies.  "  Go  fetch  it." 

Reluctantly,  with  slow  step  like  a  boy  sent  by  his 
school-master  for  a  cane,  Bruin  recrossed  the  lawn,  re- 
turning in  a  few  seconds  with  a  dog  whip  between  his 
teeth.  He  cowered  while  Menzies  administered  a  couple 
of  light  blows — blows  so  light  that  they  were  rather 
symbolic  of  disgrace  than  actual  punishment.  His 
master  slipped  the  whip  into  his  pocket.  "  Now  go  and 
see  that  the  house  is  safe." 

The  dog,  now  that  retribution  was  over,  slipped 
away.  Detectives,  for  all  their  profession,  are  no  more 
immune  from  burglary  than  ordinary  mortals,  but  Men- 
zies had  little  fear  of  his  house  being  looted  while  Bruin 
was  abroad.  To  and  fro  over  the  house  he  trotted, 
pushing  open  doors  pr  whining  till  they  were  opened  by 
the  maid,  and  inspecting  windows  and  fastenings  with 
an  intelligence  almost  uncanny.  By  the  time  he  had 
finished  his  inspection  Menzies  was  in  his  own  room. 
The  dog  trotted  in,  sat  on  his  haunches,  and  made  a  low 
crooning  noise  in  his  throat. 

[87] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  All  correct,  eh?  "  said  Menzies.  "  Good  dog.  Go 
to  bed." 

He  himself  was  asleep  almost  as  soon  as  his  head 
touched  the  pillow.  Yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
not  been  asleep  five  minutes  when  the  deep  boom  of  the 
dog's  bark  and  an  insistent  ringing  of  the  bell  aroused 
him.  He  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  slipped  out  of  bed. 
It  was  four  o'clock.  He  had  slept  seven  hours. 

He  shivered  as  he  shuffled  downstairs  in  his  slippers 
and  opened  the  door.  "  Why,  it's  you,  Congreve,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  What  the  devil  is  the  matter?  Come  in." 

Detective-Sergeant  Congreve  (graded  first-class  at 
headquarters)  was  too  wise  a  man  to  say  anything  at 
an  open  door  with  a  taxi-driver  within  earshot.  He  fol- 
lowed his  chief  into  the  dining-room  and  Menzies 
switched  on  the  light.  "  The  lady's  come  back,"  he  in- 
terrogated. 

"  No,  sir.  I  wouldn't  have  worried  you  for  that. 
It's  Hallett.  He's  gone,  too." 

Menzies  muttered  a  little  comminatory  service — in  a 
low  voice,  because  Mrs.  Menzies  was  probably  awake. 
"  That's  awkward,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  ought  to  have 
him  kept  under  observation,  but  I  guessed  I  could  rely 
on  the  hotel  people  to  let  us  know.  I  didn't  want  to 
have  to  arrest  him  for  putting  any  more  of  our  men 
on  the  sick  list,  but  I  wish  I'd  taken  a  chance  now. 
He'd  have  been  safer  for  us  and  safer  for  himself  under 
lock  and  key.  What's  the  point  ?  " 

[88] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  He  came  back  yesterday  afternoon,  went  to  his 
room,  found  a  note  waiting  him,  and  went  out  without 
saying  anything.  He  has  not  come  back.  The  hotel 
people  rang  me  up  an  hour  ago  and  I  went  round  there. 
I  found  the  note."  He  shook  an  envelope  on  to  the 
table  and  a  shower  of  torn  fragments  dropped.  "  I 
didn't  wait  to  put  it  together.  I  came  straight  on  here." 

The  chief  inspector  became  unpleasantly  conscious 
that  his  pyjamas  were  an  inadequate  protection  against 
the  bite  of  the  cold.  "  I  suppose  this  means  that  I've 
got  to  turn  out,"  he  grumbled.  "  I  seem  to  get  all 
the  jobs  where  there's  no  rest.  It's  enough  to  make 
a  man  turn  it  up  and  take  a  cottage  in  the  country. 
Have  a  go  at  that  note,  Congreve,  like  a  good  chap, 
while  I  go  and  get  some  clothes  on." 

By  the  time  he  was  dressed  Congreve  had  the  note 
ready  for  him. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  girl  had  got  him,"  he  commented 
as  he  passed  the  copy  over  to  the  chief  inspector. 
"  Anyway,  there's  an  address." 

Menzies  laid  the  copy  down  on  the  table.  *'  That's 
something,"  he  agreed  cautiously.  "  But  it  looks  to  me 
as  though  we're  right  up  against  it,  old  man:  Some- 
body'll  have  to  stand  from  under  when  the  thud  comes. 
What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

"  Empty  house,  likely,"  said  Congreve  laconically. 
"  They've  shut  Hallett's  mouth.  If  you're  right  about 
Errol,  Ling  &  Co.,  sir,  they'll  not  stand  on  ceremony. 

[89] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


They're  up  to  their  necks  already.  We'll  find  a  dead 
man  in  Ludford  Road.  They  won't  let  Hallett  do  any 
talking." 

He  spoke  in  the  matter-of-fact  way  in  which  a  sur- 
geon might  contemplate  the  result  of  a  dangerous  opera- 
tion— not  with  the  shudder  with  which  the  average  man 
would  speak  of  a  cold-blooded  murder.  The  case  with 
which  they  were  dealing  concerned  men  who  he  believed 
would  be  desperate  now  that  one  life  had  been  sacrificed 
in  their  efforts  to  cover  their  trail. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Menzies  thoughtfully.  "  They 
might  go  to  extremes  if  they  were  forced,  but  they  won't 
make  the  pace  too  hot.  We've  got  nothing  concrete 
against  'em  yet — nothing  even  to  suggest  that  one  of 
them  was  near  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens  when  the  old 
man  was  killed.  You  bet  they'll  have  alibis  all  right, 
all  right.  If  we  could  lay  our  fingers  on  'em  this  min- 
ute they'd  brazen  it  out." 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  unless  we  prove  these  other 
people  accessories  there  is  only  one  person  whose  neck 
is  in  jeopardy.  That's  the  actual  murderer.  He  prob- 
ably wouldn't  object  to  save  himself  by  another  murder. 
But  the  others  are  not  going  to  that  length  if  they  can 
help  it.  They  intend,  I  imagine,  to  try  and  bottle  him 
up  till  Smith  is  discharged  and  the  whole  boiling  of 
them  make  a  clean  get-away." 

"  But,"  objected  Congreve,  "  Royal's  evidence  alone 
will  convict  the  man." 

[90] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  Maybe  they  don't  understand  that,"  retorted  Men- 
zies.  "  Anyway  we  won't  worry  yet.  I'm  going  on  to 
Ludford  Road.  I  shall  want  you  to  go  back  and  swear 
out  a  search-warrant  in  case  it's  wanted.  Also  have 
that  note  properly  done  up  and  photographed.  You 
might  get  a  paper  merchant  to  examine  a  piece  of  the 
paper.  There's  just  a  chance  we  might  find  out  when 
it  was  bought  and  who  bought  it.  You  can  get  an  all- 
night  tramcar  at  the  end  of  the  road.  Leave  the  taxi 
for  me.  I'll  have  to  change  again." 

An  hour  later  a  plump,  ruddy-faced  man,  smoking  a 
clay  pipe,  and  with  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  trousers 
pockets,  slouched  along  Ludford  Road.  The  loosened 
shoulders,  the  shambling  gait,  the  unpolished  down-at- 
heels  boots  (one  of  them  laced  with  string),  all  told  of 
the  practical  vagrant.  Yet  Weir  Menzies  had  not 
disguised  himself  in  the  sense  that  disguise  would  be 
understood  by  those  whose  knowledge  of  Scotland  Yard 
is  derived  from  books  and  newspapers. 

His  face  was  untouched  by  grease-paint,  he  wore  no 
wig  nor  false  beard.  He  was  just  Weir  Menzies  as  he 
might  have  been  if  fortune  had  made  him  a  tramp.  Yet 
he  bore  little  superficial  resemblance  to  the  Weir  Men- 
zies, Esq.,  churchwarden  of  All  Saints,  Upper  Tooting, 
or  the  Mr.  Weir  Menzies,  chief  inspector  of  the  Crim- 
inal Investigation  Department.  His  hair  had  been 
rubbed  up  until  it  looked  as  if  it  had  not  seen  brush  or 
comb  for  a  month,  and  was  surmounted  by  a  battered 

[91] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Trilby  hat.  He  had  rubbed  his  hands  on  a  doormat 
and  then  on  his  face  to  prevent  any  suspicion  of  unnat- 
ural cleanliness.  His  neat  moustache  had  been  combed 
out  till  it  hung  down  ragged  and  bristly.  His  clothes 
were  shabby  and  no  two  garments  matched.  They 
might  have  been  given  him  at  different  times  by  chari- 
table householders. 

There  was  nothing  which  could  go  astray  and  betray 
that  he  had  assumed  a  character.  Indeed,  any  accident 
to  clothes  or  person  would  but  increase  the  disreputa- 
bility  of  his  looks. 

Twice  he  shuffled  up  and  down  the  street,  the  second 
time  meeting  a  policeman,  who  paused  and  without  say- 
ing anything  watched  him  out  of  sight.  The  two  met 
again  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  and  this  time  the  con- 
stable was  not  so  forbearing.  He  turned  his  bull's-eye 
full  on  the  tramp  and  surveyed  him  up  and  down.  It 
was  at  the  back  of  his  mind  that  he  might  have  a 
charge  "  loitering  with  intent  to  commit  a  felony." 

"  What's  the  game,  Isaacstein?  What  are  you  hang- 
ing around  for?  "  he  demanded.  And  because  he  had 
been  trained  not  to  take  risks,  his  hand  gripped  the 
greasy  collar  of  the  nondescript  and  administered  a 
slight  warning  shake. 

One  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  of  trained  policeman 
took  the  pavement  with  a  thud.  He  sat  up  ruefully  and 
with  wrath.  One  does  not  expect  a  rickety,  middle-aged 
tramp  to  have  a  working  knowledge  of  ju-jitsu.  And 

[92] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


it  astonished  him  still  more  that  his  assailant  remained 
instead  of  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and 
making  a  dash  for  freedom. 

"  All  right,"  he  growled  and  advanced  cautiously. 

"  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  my  man,"  said 
the  tramp  authoritatively.  "  I'm  C.  I.  Walk  on 
quietly  to  the  corner  and  I'll  show  you  my  warrant 
card." 

The  constable  hesitated.  He  was  young  and  this 
was  beyond  his  experience.  But  the  authority  of  the 
voice  shook  him  and  he  obeyed  the  order.  Within  five 
minutes  he  learned  how  near  he  had  been  to  committing 
a  bad  mistake. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  apologised.    "  I  didn't  know." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Menzies.  "  Of  course  you 
didn't.  I'm  not  blaming  you.  Now  you  hang  on  to 
this  corner  for  half  an  hour.  I'll  be  responsible  to  your 
superiors.  Just  stand  here  and  keep  your  eyes  and  ears 
open  in  case  I  should  want  you." 

He  had  straightened  up  during  the  conversation,  but 
now  he  became  again  the  shambling  hobo.  A  clock 
somewhere  had  just  chimed  six,  and  he  judged  that  there 
might  be  a  chance  to  commence  operations.  He  moved 
furtively  up  to  the  door  of  number  one  hundred  and 
forty  and  rang  the  bell.  Twice  he  had  to  repeat  the 
summons  before  there  was  any  movement  within.  Then 
a  window  was  flung  up  above  and  a  woman's  voice  de- 
manded the  business  of  the  intruder. 

[93] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Menzies'  answer  was  to  press  the  bell  again.  He  had 
no  very  definite  plan  in  his  mind.  His  was  merely  a 
reconnoitring  expedition.  He  wanted  the  door  opened 
and  had  no  intention  of  carrying  on  a  conversation  with 
the  lady  upstairs,  whoever  she  was,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  He  was  shielded  from  her  sight  by  the  porch 
and  he  did  not  offer  to  step  out. 

The  window  closed  with  a  bang  and  there  were  sounds 
of  someone  moving.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and 
the  pleasant-faced  woman  who  had  met  Hallett  con- 
fronted the  detective. 

"  'Ave  you  got  a  bite  you  could  spare  a  pore  man, 
lidy,"  he  whined.  "  I've  been  walkin'  all  night  an' 
nothin'  'as  passed  my  lips  since  yesterday." 

The  pleasant-faced  lady  frowned.  She  had  a  dogged 
chin  and  a  wide  mouth  and  was  quite  obviously  not  the 
sort  of  person  to  be  played  with.  "  I've  got  nothing 
for  you,"  she  snapped,  perhaps  with  excusable  vicious- 
ness  for  one  who  had  been  dragged  out  of  bed  by  a 
beggar.  She  flung  the  door  to  forcefully.  Menzies' 
foot,  however,  was  a  shade  the  quicker  as  he  thrust  it 
in  the  opening. 

"  Why,  Gwennie,"  he  said  smilingly,  in  his  natural 
voice ;  "  this  is  a  nice  welcome  for  an  old  friend.  "  Don't 
you  remember  me?  I'm  Weir  Menzies." 

She  gave  a  quick  exclamation  and  pulled  the  door 
back.  Her  face  did  not  for  a  moment  bear  any  very 
noticeable  expression  of  delight  at  the  reunion.  That, 

[94] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


however,  was  only  for  a  second.  The  next  instant  she 
had  thrust  out  her  hand  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  Why,  so  it  is.  Who'd  have  thought  of  seeing  you 
here — and  in  a  rig  like  that.  Come  right  in,  Mr.  Men- 
zies.  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  After  you,  Gwennie,"  said  Menzies  politely  but 
firmly.  "  Lead  the  way.  Never  mind  the  door.  I'll 
shut  it." 


[95] 


CHAPTER  XI 

GWENNIE  LYNE  was  a  lady  with  a  reputation — or  with- 
out one.  It  depended  on  the  point  of  view.  As  far  back 
as  Menzies  could  remember  she  had  been  a  notable  figure 
in  the  little  coterie  of  master  criminals  who  know  no 
nation  and  to  whom  the  world  is  a  hunting  ground. 
Long,  long  ago,  in  the  days  when  bank  robbery  in  the 
United  States  had  been  a  profitable  pastime,  she  had 
organised  and  even  played  an  executive  part  in  exploits 
any  one  of  which  ought  to  have  made  her  fortune. 

Menzies  knew  her  record  almost  by  heart,  for  she 
was  one  of  the  very  few  "  Classic "  criminals  who 
brought  to  bear  on  an  undertaking  an  ingenuity,  enter- 
prise, and  audacity  that  had  won  her  through  in  a  score 
of  tight  places.  At  ten  years  of  age  she  had  assisted 
her  mother  to  pick  pockets  in  Philadelphia.  At  twenty 
she  had  married  Jim  Lyne,  bank  burglar  and  gunman. 
At  twenty-one  she  had  effected  a  particularly  daring 
escape  from  Sing  Sing.  At  twenty-five  she  had  held 
a  pistol  to  a  watchman's  head  at  a  bank  in  New  Jersey 
while  her  companions  ransacked  the  vaults.  At  thirty 
she  had  probably  more  experience  in  every  grade  of 
professional  crime — short  of  murder,  which  is  not  pro- 
fessional crime — than  any  person  of  her  own  age,  male 
or  female.  Opportunely  enough,  her  husband,  always 
too  much  of  a  swashbuckler  for  his  trade,  was  shot  in 

[96] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


a  drunken  brawl  in  Wisconsin  at  this  time.  Thereafter 
she  held  her  way  undisputed,  always  ready  to 
become  a  partner  in  any  department  of  the  higher 
walks  of  crime,  from  receiving,  to  organising  a  bogus 
bank. 

She  had  of  course  met  with  checks.  There  were  few 
civilised  countries  where  she  had  not  tasted  prison  for 
longer  or  shorter  periods.  All  that  was  in  the  day's 
work. 

It  is  a  myth  that  there  is  a  distinctive  criminal  physi- 
ognomy. Fifty  years  or  more  of  crime  had  left 
Gwennie  Lyne  untouched  by  any  outward  mark.  Hers 
was  a  face  which  none  could  dream  of  distrusting  on 
sight — she  had  been  a  handsome  and  was  still  a  comely 
woman.  The  mouth  was  perhaps  a  trifle  wide  and  it 
curved  downwards  at  the  edges.  Her  hazel  eyes  were 
shrewd,  but  with  the  apparent  shrewdness  of  years,  not 
the  cunning  of  the  outcast.  She  spoke  softly,  with  a 
slight  drawl,  but  her  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  cultivated 
woman. 

Menzies  had  recognised  her  with  something  of  a  thrill. 
Her  presence  in  the  combination  against  him  was  sin- 
gularly unwelcome,  for  he  knew  her  fertility  of  resource 
and  her  daring.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mere  fact  that 
he  knew  she  was  with  the  other  side  was  something 
gained. 

His  right  hand  dropped  to  his  trousers  pocket  as  he 
followed  her,  to  make  sure  that  the  little  baton  he  had 

[97] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


placed  there  before  leaving  home  was  in  place.  He 
rarely  carried  a  pistol  for  fear  that  he  might  be  tempted 
to  use  it  before  it  was  absolutely  necessary. 

She  took  him  into  one  of  the  two  small  front  rooms 
of  the  house  and  pulled  up  the  blinds  to  admit  the  now 
growing  daylight.  He  observed  "  The  Stag  at  Bay  " 
and  a  "  View  of  Naples  "  on  the  vivid  yellowish-green 
wall-paper,  and  it  needed  not  the  faded,  worn  horsehair 
Victorian  furniture,  the  pile  of  books  on  a  table  in  the 
window,  to  tell  him  that  Gwennie  had  had  no  hand  in 
furnishing  the  house.  She  had  the  virtue  of  taste,  at 
any  rate,  and  probably  the  place  had  been  taken  already 
furnished — and  for  a  purpose.  He  wondered  whether 
its  purpose  had  been  entirely  fulfilled  or  not. 

"  Sit  you  down,  Mr.  Menzies,"  she  said  briskly.  "  It's 
early  hours  for  a  call,  but  I  guess  you've  got  some  reason 
at  the  back  of  your  head.  You'll  have  some  breakfast. 
I'll  go  and  see  about  it  and  make  myself  tidy." 

The  detective's  broad  figure  blocked  the  doorway.  He 
smilingly  shook  his  head  and  with  one  hand  behind  him 
felt  for  the  key.  There  was  none  in  the  lock.  He  jerked 
a  chair  towards  him  with  his  foot,  placed  it  against  the 
door,  and  sat  down. 

"  No  breakfast  for  me,  Gwennie,  thank  you.  And  you 
look  very  charming  as  you  are.  Suppose  we  talk." 

She  made  a  graceful  gesture  of  resignation  and  sat 
down,  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  I  guess  I  wouldn't  poison 
you,"  she  said. 

[98] 


"Aren't  you  a  deportee,  Gwennie?  "  countered  the 
man.  "  Surely  my  memory  isn't  playing  me  tricks. 
Wasn't  an  order  of  deportation  made  against  you — let 
me  see — six  years  ago  now?  You  will  remember  a  dia- 
mond tiara  in  Bond  Street." 

She  faced  him  placidly.  "  You've  got  a  good  memory. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  Mind  if  I  smoke?  "  he  asked.  "  Oh,  nothing  much. 
I  needn't  tell  a  lady  of  your  experience  it  would  have 
been  wiser  to  stay  where  you  belong." 

"  See  Section  4,  Vagrancy  Act,  1824,"  she  laughed. 
"  That's  it,  isn't  it.  Oh,  I've  been  there  before.  You 
can't  alarm  me  any  by  talking."  And  Menzies  knew 
the  astute  old  lady  was  trying  to  make  him  lose  his 
temper. 

He  lifted  his  clay  pipe  from  his  lips.  "  I've  always 
admired  your  talents,  Gwennie  " — she  rose  and  swept 
him  a  mo'cking  curtesy — "  and  we've  been  pretty  good 
pals — business  apart." 

"  Lord  bless  the  man,"  she  cried.  "  Is  this  a  pro- 
posal. I  do  believe  he's  making  love  to  me."  She  shook 
a  well-manicured  finger  at  him.  "  I  warn  you — I  might 
accept  you." 

He  grinned  appreciatively  at  the  thrust  but  shook  his 
head  reprovingly.  "  I'm  out  for  business,  Gwennie. 
Let's  cut  out  the  funny  business  and  get  down  to  hard 
tacks.  If  you  won't  listen  I'll  have  to  take  you  along, 
that's  all." 

[99] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  And  if  I  do?  "  she  interpolated  quickly. 

"  I'm  making  no  bargains.    Will  you  sit  tight?  " 

"  I'll  be  as  good  as  gold,"  she  promised,  a  demure 
half  smile  still  lurking  about  her  lips. 

Menzies  was  too  old  a  hand  to  make  the  mistake  of 
despising  such  an  antagonist.  The  woman  knew  every 
trick  in  the  game  as  well  as  he  did.  An  experience  that 
went  back  to  the  cradle,  and  a  cunning  and  brain  power 
by  which  the  organised  detective  forces  of  the  world  had 
often  been  defeated,  had  placed  her  chief  among  the 
very  few  criminals  who  can  plan  and  successfully  carry 
out  great  coups.  On  his  side,  however,  Menzies  had  one 
factor  on  which  he  placed  hopes.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  honour  among  thieves.  Sometimes  there  is  a  com- 
munity of  interest  which  forces  them  to  keep  faith  one 
with  another,  but  very  rarely  will  one  run  a  risk  to  save 
another.  The  detective  had  to  stir  Gwennie  to  alarm  for 
her  own  safety — but  whether  she  would  allow  herself  to 
be  alarmed  or  not  was  a  doubt  in  his  mind. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Hallett?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

If  a  person,  ignorant  of  the  elementary  principles  of 
arithmetic,  was  suddenly  asked  to  solve  a  problem  in 
algebra  he  might  have  looked  as  Gwennie  did  then.  Her 
air  of  bewilderment  was  an  education.  Had  Menzies 
been  less  sure  of  his  ground  even  he  might  have  been 
deluded.  She  stared  at  him  blankly.  "  Mr.  Hallett?  " 
she  repeated.  "  I  never  heard  of  him." 

The  man's  face  set  grimly  and  his  eyes  grew  hard. 
[100] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  Or  of  Reader  Ling,  or  of  Errol,  or  Miss  Greye- 
Stratton,  or  William  Smith?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  know  Ling — some,"  she  said  artlessly.  "  But 
I  haven't  seen  him  for  two  or  three  years.  Why 
don't  you  tell  me  straight  what  you're  driving  at, 
Mr.  Menzies?  I'm  always  willing  to  help  you  if  I 
can." 

"  I  aim  to  take  you  to  pieces  and  see  what  makes  you 
tick  if  you're  not  careful,  Gwennie,"  he  said.  "  You'd 
better  listen.  You  know  of  the  murder  at  Linstone  Ter- 
race Gardens."  He  tapped  out  the  bowl  of  his  pipe 
against  the  heel  of  his  boot  and  menaced  her  with  the 
stem.  "  I'm  not  saying  you  had  anything  to  do  with 
it — but  you  know  something."  She  met  his  eyes  stead- 
ily. "  You're  going  down,  Gwennie,  don't  make  any 
error  about  it.  But  I'd  hate  to  be  hard  on  you.  I 
know  you've  never  liked  gun-play  and  I'm  willing  to 
believe  that  it  was  an  accident,  so  far  as  you  were  con- 
cerned— that  someone  got  out  of  hand.  You  know 
we've  got  this  chap — Smith  he  calls  himself.  He's  likely 
to  get  loose-lipped,  you  know." 

The  last  hint  was  sheer  bluff,  and  Menzies  saw  it  was 
of  no  avail  even  before  she  replied.  She  was  not  to  be 
bamboozled  into  an  acknowledgment  that  she  knew  any- 
thing of  Smith.  "  You  believe  I've  had  something  to 
do  with  the  Greye-Stratton  murder,"  she  answered. 
"  If  you've  made  up  your  mind  I'll  not  argue.  You'll 
have  to  find  a  better  fairy-story  than  that  to  get  me 

[101] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


down  to  the  Old  Bailey."  She  rose  and  walked  over 
to  a  seat  nearer  to  the  window. 

"  I  should  have  thought  a  lady  of  your  penetration 
could  have  put  two  and  two  together  from  seeing  me 
here,"  he  remarked. 

She  looked  through  the  window.  "  I  want  to  know," 
she  said  indifferently. 

"  There  was  a  note  sent  to  Mr.  Hallett,  you  know. 
It  asked  him  to  come  to  this  address.  We  have  got 
the  note,  which  is  quite  enough  for  me  to  act  on  if  I 
want  to  charge  you  on  suspicion  of  being  concerned  in 
this  murder." 

He  thought  that  her  cheek  went  a  trifle  paler  but  he 
could  not  be  certain.  Mrs.  Lyne  was  not  a  lady  who 
was  likely  to  show  her  emotions  by  any  physical  change. 
She  seemed  deep  in  thought.  She  watched  through  the 
window  for  two  or  three  minutes  before  replying.  Her 
white  fingers  played  an  imaginary  piano  on  her  lap. 
Then  she  jerked  her  head  abruptly  as  though  she  had 
come  to  some  decision.  "Where  do  I  come  in?"  she 
asked.  "  I'm  not,  admitting  that  I  know  anything,  but 
if  I  did,  would  it  be  worth  my  while  to  tell  you?  What 
should  I  stand  to  gain,  anyway?  Let's  talk  plain  busi- 
ness. You  don't  expect  something  for  nothing.  As  far 
as  I  can  see  all  you  promise  is  your  best  thanks  if  I'll 
kindly  supply  you  with  evidence  to  get.  myself  con- 
victed." 

There  was  reason  in  her  point  of  view.  There  are 
[102] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


countries  where  a  certain  amount  of  elasticity  is  al- 
lowed to  detectives  in  the  matter  of  bargaining  with 
guilty  persons.  But  Scotland  Yard  holds  very  strict 
views  on  that  point.  The  slightest  resemblance  of  par- 
tiality in  its  men  is  rigorously  condemned.  Menzies 
was  in  a  difficulty  and  knew  it. 

"  There's  something  in  what  you  say,  Gwennie,"  he 
argued  easily.  "  Only  don't  lose  sight  of  this — I've 
got  enough  to  act  on  in  regard  to  you."  He  placed  his 
hands  on  his  knees  and  leaned  forward.  "  It  isn't  as 
if  we  weren't  bound  to  get  the  rest  of  our  evidence 
sooner  or  later.  You  would  be  only  saving  time.  You 
know  if  I  put  in  a  word  for  you  at  a  trial " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  I'll  climb  down,"  she  said. 
"  You've  got  me  docketed  and  I  know  when  I'm  beat." 
Her  bright  face  relapsed  into  a  momentary  scowl.  "  I 
was  foolish  to  send  Hallett  that  note.  I  thought  he 
might  not  take  any  notice  of  a  verbal  message.  After 
all  I  guess  you'll  search  this  house,  and  you'll  be  bound 
to  find  him." 

"He's  here?" 

She  nodded.  "  He's  here.  He's  had  a  tiring  night 
if  I'm  any  judge.  If  you'll  stand  out  of  the  doorway 
we'll  get  along  and  drag  him  up.  We  stowed  him  in 
the  cellar." 

He  had  too  much  knowledge  of  Miss  Lyne's  resource- 
fulness to  take  any  chances.  She  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a  bitter  fighter  when  hardest  pressed  and  he 

[103] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


was  alert  for  any  indication  that  she  meant  to  throw 
him  off  his  guard.  He  gripped  her  wrist  as  he  opened 
the  door.  "  I'm  going  to  hold  tight,"  he  warned. 

"  Oh,  if  you  like  it,"  she  retorted,  and  they  passed 
side  by  side  into  the  passage. 

In  the  semi-darkness  by  the  kitchen  door  she  stopped 
and  pushed  open  a  cupboard  under  the  stairs.  "  It's 
here,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  got  a  match  ?  There's  a 
trap-door." 

"  We'll  have  to  do  without  a  match,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  like  clinging  to  you,  Gwennie." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  he  felt  her  stoop,  and  him- 
self bent  and  groped  on  the  floor.  The  fingers  of  his 
right  hand  came  in  contact  with  a  heavy  bolt,  which 
he  withdrew.  She  in  turn  flung  back  the  trap-door 
and  both  peered  down  into  the  square  of  blackness  which 
marked  the  opening. 

"  You  there,  Mr.  Hallett?  "  he  cried. 

A  muffled,  inarticulate  sound  reached  him.  The 
woman  raised  herself  almost  upright.  "  He's  tied  and 
gagged.  We'll  need  that  match,  after  all,  Mr.  Men- 
zies.  There's  a  ladder  somewhere." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  with  his  free  right  hand  and 
passed  her  a  box  of  matches.  "  You'd  better  strike  it, 
then.  Hurry  up." 

She  fumbled  with  the  matches  clumsily  enough,  which 
was  only  natural.  There  was  a  quick  burst  of  flame 
as  the  whole  box  flared  up,  and  then  Menzies  gave  a 
[104] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


cry  as  she  brought  round  the  flaming  box  with  all  the 
force  of  her  left  hand  full  in  his  face.  His  grip  on  her 
wrist  involuntarily  relaxed  and  the  moment  she  had 
been  waiting  for  arrived.  She  flung  her  full  weight 
sideways  upon  him  and  he  collapsed  down  the  open 
trap-door. 

She  flung  the  door  swiftly  to,  pushed  home  the  bolt, 
and  daintily  brushing  the  dirt  from  her  dressing-gown, 
withdrew,  closing  the  cupboard  door  behind  her. 


[105] 


CHAPTER  XII 

WEIR  MENZEES,  bruised  in  body  but  more  battered  in 
his  feelings,  was  on  his  feet  in  a  flash.  Only  the  need 
for  instant  action  kept  him  from  expressing  in  un- 
churchwardenly  terms  his  opinion  of  the  trick  that  had 
been  played  him.  A  ladder  which  had  made  itself  pain- 
fully felt  in  his  descent  he  now  ascended  with  a  rush. 
He  scarcely  hoped  that  the  trap  was  still  unsecured, 
but  he  was  a  man  who  rarely  took  anything  for  granted. 
His  fingers  pressed  against  the  rough  surface  of  the 
boards  and  he  gave  one  futile  heave.  Then  he  sat 
down  on  the  top  step  to  consider  matters  quietly. 

It  is  an  elementary  principle  continually  dinned  into 
the  ears  of  junior  members  of  the  service  that  never 
in  any  circumstances  must  a  prisoner  upon  whom  hands 
have  once  been  laid  be  permitted  to  escape.  A  captain 
who  has  lost  his  ship  feels  little  more  agony  of  mind 
than  a  Scotland  Yard  man  who  has  lost  his  prisoner. 
It  is  always  difficult  to  define  the  difference  between 
negligence  and  ill  luck. 

True  Gwennie  had  not  been  technically  under  arrest, 
but  that  was  small  consolation.  He  had  intended  to 
arrest  her  and  she  had  outwitted  him.  That  was  the 
galling  part — a  part  that  could  admit  of  little  explana- 
tion or  extenuation  when  he  came  to  submit  his  report 
[106] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


to  headquarters.  He — a  chief  inspector  of  the  C.  I.  D. 
— had  dropped  into  this  muddle. 

He  put  the  personal  aspect  aside  for  the  moment 
while  he  sought  to  disentangle  motives  and  probabili- 
ties. Gwennie  could  have  no  hope  that  his  imprison- 
ment would  be  more  than  temporary.  She  was  too  old 
a  hand  for  that.  Even  if  he  were  eliminated  altogether, 
the  investigation  would  still  go  on.  His  progress  was 
recorded  at  Scotland  Yard  and  there  were  able  men 
ready  to  take  it  up  where  he  had  left  off.  Also  she 
could  scarcely  suppose  that  he  had  ventured  unsup- 
ported into  the  house.  She  would  realise  his  colleagues 
would  not  be  far  away. 

It  needed  no  great  reasoning  power  to  conclude  that 
her  little  effort  against  him  was  meant  merely  as  a 
diversion  to  afford  her  time  to  make  a  get-away.  And 
more,  it  seemed  likely  that  she  would  succeed. 

"  I'd  like  to  wring  her  neck,"  mused  Menzies  aloud 
and  stabbed  a  hand  viciously  into  his  pocket  to  see 
whether  he  had  a  spare  box  of  matches. 

Down  below  in  the  darkness  something  stirred.  The 
detective  more  than  ever  regretted  the  absence  of 
matches.  He  cautiously  descended  the  ladder  and 
groped  his  way  towards  the  sound.  The  cellar  had 
seemingly  been  used  as  a  depository  of  useless  lumber 
and  more  than  once  he  stumbled  before,  laying  on  a 
heap  of  coals,  he  placed  his  hands  on  a  warm  form. 
The  figure  moved  under  his  touch  and  he  felt  the  corda 
[107] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


that  enwrapped  it.  He  slipped  his  pocket-knife  under 
the  bonds  and  the  man  moved  stiffly,  sat  up,  extracted 
a  gag  from  his  mouth,  and  spat. 

"  That  you,  Hallett?  "  said  Menzies. 

"  Yes."  The  young  man  broke  into  a  cackling  laugh. 
"  They've  got  you,  then,  Menzies.  If  I  wasn't  so  sore 
this  would  be  funny." 

"  You've  a  keen  sense  of  humour,"  retorted  Menzies 
grimly.  "  I  don't  see  anything  funny  about  it. 
Here — hold  tight.  Don't  go  falling  about  yet. 
I'll  give  you  a  rub-down  and  you'll  be  all  right  in  a 
jiffy." 

Pie  chafed  the  numbed  limbs  until  Hallett  groaned 
with  the  exquisite  agony  of  returning  circulation. 
"  Matches  are  what  I  want  more  than  anything  else  at 
the  moment,"  he  went  on.  "  Do  you  happen  to  have 
any?" 

"  I  think  there's  some — right-hand  vest  pocket," 
groaned  Hallett.  "  Easy — you're  murdering  me." 

Menzies  extracted  a  small  silver  box  of  vestas  and 
struck  a  light.  "You'll  do  now,"  he  said.  "Better 
keep  quiet  for  a  little  while  I  have  a  look  round.  We'll 
talk  when  there's  more  time." 

The  light  showed  a  low-pitched  cellar  such  as  is  used 
for  the  storage  of  coals  in  many  suburban  houses. 
Hallett,  indeed,  had  been  lying  upon  a  heap  of  coals 
and  almost  immediately  above  was  an  iron  plate  which 
Menzies  supposed  opened  out  on  to  the  pavement.  He 
[108] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


pushed  it  upwards  and  a  slash  of  light  showed  that 
he  was  right. 

"  By  James ! — I'll  do  Gwennie  yet,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  This  hole  was  not  built  to  fit  me,  but  I  guess  you'll 
be  able  to  wriggle  through,  Mr.  Hallett.  You're 
slimmer  than  I.  Feel  you'd  like  to  have  a  walk  about 
now?  Here,  let  me  give  you  a  hand?" 

Supported  by  the  chief  inspector,  Hallett  took  two 
or  three  uncertain  steps.  His  strength  was  rapidly  re- 
turning to  him  and  by  the  time  they  had  been  twice 
round  the  cellar  he  declared  himself  fit  for  the  under- 
taking. Menzies  lifted  him  bodily  and  he  wriggled 
upwards  through  the  manhole.  It  was  a  tight  squeeze 
and  he  sat  gasping  and  exhausted  on  the  pavement  by 
the  time  he  was  through. 

"What  next?  "he  asked. 

"  There  should  be  a  constable  at  the  corner  to  the 
right.  Get  him  and  break  into  the  house  if  you  can't 
do  it  any  other  way.  Tell  him  to  come  and  speak  to 
me  if  he  won't  take  instructions  from  you." 

The  policeman  proved  amenable,  and  within  ten  min- 
utes Menzies  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  bolts  of 
his  prison  withdraw  and  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
he  emerged  into  comparatively  open  air.  "  That's 
better,"  he  declared.  He  turned  sharply  on  the  con- 
stable. "  Have  you  seen  anyone  leave  the  house  since  I 
came  in?  " 

"  There  was  a  lady  and  gentleman  about  twenty  min- 

[109] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


utes  or  half  an  hour  ago,  sir.  I  could  have  stopped  'em, 
but  I  didn't  know  whether  you  might  want  me  to.  I 
had  no  instructions.  The  gentleman  was  carrying  a 
bag  and  the  lady  asked  me  where  they  were  likely  to 
find  a  taxi-cab." 

"  Did  you  direct  them?  " 

"  I  told  them  the  town  hall  was  the  nearest  rank." 

"  Hump  yourself  down  to  that  rank,"  said  Menzies, 
"  and  find  out  if  they  took  a  cab.  Get  the  number  and 
hurry  back,  bringing  a  cab  with  you.  Come  on,  Hal- 
lett.  We'll  make  sure  that  all  the  birds  have  flown 
before  we  have  that  talk.  And  a  wash  wouldn't  be 
amiss  for  either  of  us,"  he  added,  surveying  the  other's 
coal-blackened  face. 

"  You've  burnt  yourself,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  That,"  commented  Menzies.  "  Oh,  that's  nothing 
— only  Gwennie's  trade-mark.  She's  a  regular  little 
spit-cat,  isn't  she?  " 

A  room  to  room  search  of  the  house  satisfied  Menzies 
that  it  was  empty  save  for  themselves.  He  postponed 
a  more  detailed  search  until  Congreve  should  arrive 
and  led  the  way  to  the  room  in  which  Gwennie  Lyne 
had  received  him.  He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  looked 
Hallett  up  and  down. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  my  duty  to  get  you  out  of  this 
hole,"  he  said,  "  I'd  have  felt  inclined  to  let  your  friends 
stew  you  in  your  own  juice.  You're  a  little  too  inclined 
to  go  off  at  half-cock  for  my  taste." 

[110] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Hallett  flushed  a  little.  He  remembered  that  but  for 
the  detective  he  would  probably  have  been  still  in  the 
cellar,  and  he  had  passed  no  word  of  thanks.  He  tried 
to  overlook  the  reproof  in  Menzies'  tone.  "  I'll  own  I 
blundered,  if  that  will  satisfy  you."  He  held  out  his 
hand.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I'd  have  still  been 
sweating  my  soul  out  down  below.  I  take  it  all  back. 
You're  a  good  man,  Menzies." 

"  The  girl  played  you  up,  did  she?  You're  not  the 
first  that's  been  made  a  fool  of  by  a  woman,  my  lad." 

Hallett's  teeth  gritted  together.  Menzies  seemed  to 
have  the  faculty  of  invariably  smoothing  him  up  the 
wrong  way.  "  Can't  you  leave  that  end  alone,"  he  said 
coldly.  "  You  may  be  right  or  wrong,  but  you  know 
my  opinion.  Miss  Greye-Stratton  isn't  a  criminal. 
Your  judgment's  warped." 

Menzies  smiled  and  made  a  gesture  as  of  one  indulg- 
ing a  child's  whim.  "  All  right,  my  son.  Have  it  your 
own  way.  I  know  " — he  cocked  one  leg  over  the  other 
— "  if  I'd  been  lured  into  this  shanty  by  the  lady  and 
bundled  down  to  keep  company  with  the  coals,  what  / 
should  think.  I'm  not  blaming  you  for  jumping  to  help 
a  lady  in  distress — but  if  you'd  gone  to  the  Yard  with 
that  note  instead  of  playing  knight-errant,  it  would 
have  been  the  sensible  thing." 

"  That  note  was  forged.  I'll  swear  she  had  no  hand 
in  it." 

Weir  Menzies  was  whistling  a  tune  softly  to  himself. 
[Ill] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  bar.  "  My  dear  young 
friend,  for  a  man  who's  knocked  about  the  world  you're 
the  most  verdant  sprig  I've  run  across  for  a  long 
time." 

"  How'd  you  know  I  was  here?"  demanded  Jimmie. 

"  You  left  the  fragments  of  the  note  in  your  room 
and  we  put  them  together.  That's  all.  Suppose  you 
let  me  know  what  happened.  We'll  want  your  state- 
ment, anyway." 

Jimmie  Hallett  felt  his  unshaven  chin  absently.  "  It's 
no  good  explaining  to  you  why  I  fell  into  this  frame-up. 
You  wouldn't  understand  and  you  can  call  me  all  the 
names  you  like  if  it  relieves  you  any.  You've  got  to  take 
it  that  I  felt  I  had  to  do  something  when  I  got  back 
to  the  hotel  and  found  the  note.  That  was  how  I  came 
out  here.  I  guess  I  led  any  of  your  men  who  were 
shadowing  me  a  little  dance.  I  hopped  all  over  the  old 
village." 

"  If  you  went  to  any  trouble  to  avoid  my  men,"  said 
Menzies  drily,  "  it  was  waste  of  time.  There  was  no 
one  following  you.  If  there  had  been  you  wouldn't  have 
thrown  them  off.  That  doesn't  matter,  though.  Go 
on." 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmie,  "  there  isn't  much  more  to  it. 
A  nice,  gentle  old  lady — it's  she  who  you  call  Gwennie, 
I  suppose — opened  the  door  to  me.  I  was  on  the  look- 
out for  tricks,  but  she  pretty  well  threw  me  off  my 
guard  when  she  denied  that  she  knew  Miss  Olney — al- 


though  when  I  mentioned  Miss  Greye-Stratton's  name 
she  was  as  nice  as  pie  and  asked  me  right  in — into  this 
very  room. 

"  She  asked  me  to  sit  down  and  went  away — as  I 
supposed — to  fetch  Miss  Greye-Stratton.  She  was 
back  in  two  or  three  minutes  and  she  pitched  me  a  little 
tale — I  suppose  while  things  were  being  got  good  and 
ready  for  me.  She  told  me  that  she  was  an  old  friend 
of  Miss  Greye-Stratton " 

"  Didn't  that  strike  you  as  curious,  seeing  she  hadn't 
recognised  the  name  of  Olney?  "  asked  Menzies. 

"  It  didn't  occur  to  me — then,"  admitted  Hallett. 
"  I  never  gave  it  a  thought.  As  I  was  saying,  she  de- 
clared that  she  was  an  old  friend  and  that  the  girl  had 
sought  her  advice  in  her  difficulties.  You  can  laugh, 
but  I  gulped  it  all  down.  Then  there  came  a  tap  at 
the  door.  '  Peggy  is  ready  to  see  you,'  said  she,  and 
we  got  up.  I  held  the  door  open  for  her  and  passed 
through  close  behind.  The  passage  isn't  well  lighted,  as 
you  may  have  noticed,  and  as  I  half  turned  to  close 
the  door  after  me  someone  dropped  a  bag  over  my 
head  and  shoulders. 

"  I  did  my  best  but  I  didn't  stand  a  dog's  chance.  If 
I'd  had  my  arms  free  I  might  have  done  something, 
but  that  smothering  bag  prevented  anything  like  an 
effective  struggle.  I  had  a  gun  but  I  couldn't  get  at 
it.  There  were  three  of  them — Gwennie  and  two  men — 
and  I  was  dragged  back  into  this  room  and  handled. 

[113] 


"  At  last  the  two  men  managed  to  get  hold  of  my 
wrists  and  held  me  while  Gwennie  drew  the  sack  off. 
Then  I  was  lashed  and  gagged  as  you  found  me. 

"  '  Sorry  to  put  you  to  this  inconvenience,  Mr.  Hal- 
lett,'  said  Gwennie,  '  but  we  just  had  to  make  sure  of 
you.'  I  glared  at  her.  Of  course  I  couldn't  answer. 
Laying  as  I  was  I  couldn't  see  the  faces  of  the  two 
men — they  seemed  to  be  purposely  keeping  out  of  my 
line  of  sight,  but  one  of  them  struck  in. 

"  '  Think  yourself  lucky  that  we  haven't  put  you 
right  out.' 

"  *  All  right,'  thinks  I  to  myself,  '  I  know  that  voice.' 
It  was  that  of  the  man  who  let  me  in  at  Linstone  Ter- 
race Gardens. 

"  '  You  keep  quiet,'  said  Gwennie — she  seemed  to  be 
boss  of  the  show.  '  Now  just  listen  to  me,  Mr.  Hallett. 
You've  been  jolted  into  a  business  that  is  no  concern  of 
yours,  and  we're  not  the  sort  of  people  to  allow  our 
plans  to  be  interfered  with.  It's  up  to  us  to  keep 
your  mouth  shut  about  what  you've  seen  or  know,  but 
you  won't  come  to  any  harm  unless  our  hands  are 
forced.  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  put  up  with  some 
discomfort  for  some  hours,  though,  until  we  can  make 
arrangements.' 

"  They  lifted  me  up  and  carried  me  down  that  cellar 
— and  anything  harder  than  the  coal  they  laid  me  on 
I've  never  known.  There  was  a  clock  I  could  hear 
striking  somewhere,  so  I  was  able  to  keep  track  of  time. 

[114] 


At  about  half-past  ten  last  night  Gwennie  came  down 
and  loosened  the  gag  and  gave  me  something  to  eat  and 
drink.  She  didn't  forget  to  put  it  on  again  afterwards, 
though.  After  that  I  was  left  alone  till  I  heard  your 
voices  above  the  trap-door — though  I  never  thought 
then  that  she'd  diddle  you  as  she  has  done." 

"  I've  not  finished  yet,  Mr.  Hallett,"  said  Menzies. 
"  We're  going  to  play  this  game  out.     It's  one  thing 

gained  to  know  that  Gwennie  Lyne's  in  it Hello, 

there's  a  cab.  That  must  be  my  constable  back.  Ah, 
and  there's  Congreve  and  a  couple  more  men.  It  doesn't 
look  as  if  we'd  have  stayed  long  in  that  cellar  even  if 
there  hadn't  been  the  coal-shoot.  I'll  have  to  decide 
what's  to  be  done." 


[115] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  only  man  who  appeared  at  all  hurried  or  excited 
was  the  constable.  He  had  gained  not  only  the  number 
of  the  cab  in  which  Gwennie  and  her  companion  had 
driven  away,  but  the  name  of  the  driver  and  the  location 
of  his  garage.  He  was  visibly  proud  of  his  success, 
though  perhaps  a  little  disappointed  that  Menzies 
should  accept  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Still  there  was 
the  thrill  not  often  encountered  in  street  duty  of  feeling 
that  he  was  at  work  side  by  side  with  one  of  the  best- 
known  Scotland  Yard  detectives.  It  was  none  the  less 
felt,  although  he  had  little  idea  of  what  was  happening 
or  what  had  happened. 

His  palpable  excitement  was  in  contrast  to  the  im- 
perturbable attitude  of  the  detectives  to  whom  the 
routine  was  familiar.  They  waited  while  Menzies 
swiftly  scribbled  a  message  to  headquarters. 

A  definite  stage  had  been  reached  in  the  investigation. 
The  motive  and  identity  of  the  murderer  of  the  old  man 
were  still  in  doubt,  but  no  longer  was  there  any  neces- 
sity for  questing  a  trail.  The  law  holds  every  person 
innocent  until  proved  guilty,  but  common  sense  has  at 
times  to  reverse  the  rule.  No  experienced  police  officer 
of  any  nationality  would  hesitate  for  a  moment  in  form- 
ing an  opinion  even  had  the  facts  against  Gwennie 
Lyne  been  much  slighter  than  they  were.  Her  mere 

[116] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


reputation  as  an  organiser  of  criminal  coups  was 
enough. 

It  might  be  difficult  to  bring  home  any  proof  of  com- 
plicity in  the  murder,  but  there  was  now  a  legitimate 
reason  for  holding  her  (once  she  was  caught)  in  the 
abduction  of  Hallett  or  even  as  a  returned  deportee. 
A  suspect  under  lock  and  key  has  few  opportunities 
of  clouding  a  line  of  investigation.  Menzies  felt  the 
elation  of  one  who  had  viewed  his  quarry  and  could 
now  run  it  down  in  the  open.  Once  she  and  her  friends 
were  under  arrest  it  would  be  easier  to  piece  together 
the  links  connecting  them  with  the  murder. 

He  finished  his  despatch  and  folded  and  blotted 
it  methodically.  "  Take  that  along  to  the  station 
and  have  it  wired  off  to  the  Yard  at  once,"  he 
ordered. 

So  he  sent  a  warning  that  within  an  hour  or  less 
would  reach  each  one  of  the  six  hundred  odd  detectives 
of  London,  to  say  nothing  of  the  watchers  of  the  ports. 
Not  a  single  man  of  those  six  hundred  going  about  his 
ordinary  business  but  would  shortly  carry  a  photograph 
of  Gwennie  and  be  alert  for  any  hint  of  her  whereabouts. 
It  was  to  that  relentless,  unceasing  vigilance  that  Men- 
zies pinned  his  faith  rather  than  to  the  wearying  task 
of  following  her  up  through  the  cabman  who  had  driven 
her  away.  The  cabman  would  only  be  able  to  say 
where  he  put  her  down,  and  she  would  have  had 
ample  time  to  cover  her  tracks. 

[in] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  Did  you  get  that  search-warrant,  Congreve  ?  Right 
you  are.  You'd  better  start  running  over  the  house. 
I'll  get  some  clothes  and  come  back.  What  do  you 
think  about  things,  Mr.  Hallett?  Would  you  like  to 
come  along  with  me?  " 

Jimmie's  lips  were  firm-pressed.  "  What  are  you 
doing  about  the  girl?  "  he  said.  "  She  may  be  in  dan- 
ger. Isn't  there  something  I  can  do?  " 

"  You  can't  do  anything  but, keep  cool,"  said  Menzies. 
"  It's  no  good  over-running  ourselves.  That  young 
lady's  a  lot  more  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself  than 
you  seem  to  think.  We're  getting  on  as  fast  as  we  can. 
Something  might  turn  up  in  searching  the  house  that 
will  give  us  a  fresh  start,  seeing  that  Gwennie  hustled 
out  of  it  in  such  a  hurry." 

Even  if  Jimmie  had  been  still  resolved  to  chip  in  on 
a  lone  hand,  he  recognised  that  he  was  helpless.  He 
could  not  act  by  himself.  He  had  no  organisation  to 
back  him  and  no  means  of  following  up  the  girl  unless 
he  stood  in  with  the  detectives.  He  nodded  in  token 
of  his  acquiescence  in  Menzies*  dispositions  and  the 
latter  led  him  to  the  taxi-cab  outside. 

They  whirled  away  to  Magersfontein  Road,  where 
Hallett  gladly  availed  himself  of  an  offer  to  eradicate 
most  of  the  traces  of  the  night's  adventure.  The  chief 
inspector  was  waiting  for  him  by  the  time  he  had  finished 
a  bath  and  a  shave  and  made  an  energetic  attack  on  his 
clothes  with  a  brush.  He  also  had  changed.  Flushed 

[118] 


and  cheerful,  he  looked  more  the  churchwarden  than 
ever  by  contrast  with  his  late  appearance. 

"  No  need  to  hurry.  Congreve  won't  have  finished 
yet  awhile  and  a  bit  of  breakfast  won't  do  any  harm. 
Let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Menzies.  And  here's  Bruin. 
Shake  hands  with  Mr.  Hallett,  Bruin."  He  fondled 
the  dog  for  a  moment.  "  He's  a  rascal.  Tried  to 
spoil  my  garden  yesterday,  didn't  you — you  wicked  old 
sinner.  Come  and  have  a  look  at  my  patch,  Mr.  Hal- 
lett. It's  not  big,  but  I  do  fairly  well  with  my 
roses." 

"  I  never  talk  business  when  I'm  at  home  and  never 
think  of  it  if  I  can  help  it.  I  do  all  my  worrying  on 
duty.  Some  men  let  a  case  get  on  their  nerves.  It 
never  does  any  good,"  he  said  when  they  were  seated  at 
the  table. 

The  steady  search  of  Mrs.  Lyne's  house  was  still 
progressing  when  they  returned  to  Ludford  Road.  A 
number  of  fresh  detectives  had  arrived  to  help  Congreve, 
and  they  found  Heldon  Foyle  stretched  lazily  out  in 
one  of  the  horsehair  chairs  in  the  sitting-room.  He 
rose  and  shook  hands  with  Jimmie. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Hallett  ?  .  .  .  I  got  your  report, 
Menzies.  Nothing  much  doing,  so  I  thought  I'd  drop 
down  and  have  a  look  at  things."  He  drew  the  chief  in- 
spector a  little  aside.  "  I  didn't  think  you  would  have 
let  Gwennie  get  one  in  on  you.  She  complicates  things. 
The  Commissioner  isn't  pleased." 

[119] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  It's  against  me,  sir,  and  that's  a  fact,"  agreed  the 
other  ruefully.  He  made  no  attempt  at  excuse. 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  old  man,"  said  Foyle  more  sym- 
pathetically now  that  he  had  delivered  his  official  re- 
proof. "  I'd  have  fallen  into  it  just  the  same  way. 
Come  upstairs.  Excuse  us  a  moment,  Mr.  Hallett." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs  to  a  locked  room  and  tapped 
softly  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  very  slowly,  just 
wide  enough  to  admit  him.  "  Burnt  paper,"  he  ex- 
plained laconically.  "  Come  in  slowly.  Don't  make  a 
draught." 

The  chief  inspector  obeyed.  There  were  a  couple  of 
men  within  the  bedroom,  which  reeked  of  oil  from  a 
cheap  stove  on  the  washstand.  The  window  was  tight 
closed  and  the  chimney  was  blocked  up.  In  the  grate 
were  the  blackened  fragments  of  a  mass  of  burnt  papers. 
The  big  bed,  too,  was  a  chaos  of  burnt  papers  which 
had  broken  under  the  efforts  of  the  two  men  to  move 
them  intact. 

The  superintendent  and  the  chief  inspector  halted  by 
the  door.  With  infinite  delicacy  one  of  the  constables 
lifted  a  sheet  of  burnt  paper  from  the  grate  and  placed 
it  in  a  kitchen  sieve.  This  he  held  over  a  steaming 
kettle  on  the  oil  stove  while  his  companion  with  a  trans- 
parent sheet  of  paper  on  which  gum  had  been  thinly 
spread  in  his  hand,  waited  anxiously.  The  burnt  paper 
softened  rapidly  and  the  gummed  sheet  was  dropped 
upon  it. 

[120] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  That's  the  last,  sir,"  commented  one  of  the  op- 
erators. "  The  rest  is  too  broken  up  to  be  handled." 
He  indicated  the  grate  with  a  gesture. 

The  chief  inspector  moved  to  the  bed  and  took  a 
seat  upon  it.  Heldon  Foyle  lit  a  cigar. 

"  There  are  two  or  three  cheque-book  counterfoils 
not  quite  destroyed,"  went  on  the  man,  and  picking 
them  off  the  coverlet  handed  them  to  Menzies. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Foyle.  "  Mr.  Menzies  and  I  will 
go  through  these  things  now.  You  can  come  to  photo- 
graph them  later  on." 

As  the  experts  vanished,  Menzies  gingerly  turned 
over  the  charred  leaves  of  the  cheque  counterfoils. 
"  Gwennie  made  the  most  of  her  time,"  he  observed,  "  but 
she  seems  to  have  been  too  much  rushed  to  make  a  com- 
plete job  of  it.  These  are  on  the  same  bank  as  Greye- 
Stratton's." 

"  Same  cheques  ?  "  asked  Foyle. 

"  Hallett  may  be  able  to  tell  us  that.  What  are  these 
other  documents?  " 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  burnt  paper  that  it  often  shows 
up  quite  clearly  any  writing  that  was  upon  it  before  it 
was  consumed.  Menzies  wrinkled  his  brows  as  he 
studied  the  pasted-down  portions  that  had  been  res- 
cued. Some  pieces  were  almost  complete ;  some  had 
broken  and  twisted  under  the  process  of  restoration 
so  that  it  was  a  matter  of  difficulty  to  follow  the  ec- 
centricities of  the  writing  which,  in  some  cases,  stood 


THE    MAELSTROM 


out  dirty  grey,  in  others  brilliant  black,  and  still  again 
pale  black. 

"  Listen  to  this,"  said  Menzies.  He  read  slowly : 
"  '  We  are  all  right  for  the  time  being  and  if ' — there's 
a  piece  missing  there — '  can  be  handled  we  shall  be  all 
hunky.  Couldn't  you  square  one  of  the  bulls.  You 
know  some  of  them  and  it  might  be  worth  a  shot,  as  it 
would  simplify  things.  It's  no  good  tackling  M.  But 
a  couple  of  hundred  with  some  of  the  others  ought  to 
go  a  long  way.  You  can  dig  the  money  out  and  ' — 
something  else  gone.  '  Hallett  is  most  dangerous  just 
now.  He  absolutely  must  be  settled  if  we  are  to  pull 
off  the  game.  That's  up  to  you,  as  I'll  have  to  keep 
below  the  water  line.5 

"  '  Better  not  write  to  me,  but  if  you  can  get  wind 
to  Cincinnati  pass  me  a  word.  Don't  trust  C.  too 
much.'  The  rest  of  the  letter's  gone,"  finished  Menzies. 

The  superintendent  sucked  his  cigar  thoughtfully. 
"That's  Cincinnati  Red,"  he  commented.  "You'll 
want  to  rope  him  in.  He's  been  in  London  for  three 
months  or  more." 

"  I'll  have  that  seen  to  at  once,"  said  Menzies.  "  The 
rest  of  the  letters  can  wait  a  little." 

Foyle  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  blackened 
epistle.  "  Pity  the  rest  of  it's  gone.  The  chap  who 
wrote  this  thinks  a  lot  of  you,  Menzies.  He  thinks 
you're  above  graft.  I  wonder  if  Gwennie  has  been  try- 
ing to  buy  up  any  of  our  men." 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  The  letter's  probably  been  written  this  last  day  or 
two.  There's  been  no  time  yet.  I'll  pass  the  word  that 
whoever  is  tackled  is  to  bite." 

"  There  might  be  a  chance,"  said  Foyle.  "  And  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Menzies.  I'll  bet  you  a  thousand  pounds 
to  a  penny  that  the  gentleman  who's  so  anxious  to  keep 
his  head  under  the  water  line  is  Stewart  Reader  Ling." 

"  No  takers,  sir,"  said  Menzies  smilingly. 


[123] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  serene  unconsciousness  that  he  occupied  any  place 
in  the  thoughts  of  Scotland  Yard  men  Cincinnati  Red 
sat  cross-legged,  sipping  a  liqueur.  Of  late  his  lines  had 
fallen  in  pleasant  places.  He  had  tasted  sufficiently  of 
the  hardships  of  this  world  to  appreciate  comfort.  The 
furnished  flat  which  he  held  in  Palace  Avenue  by  grace 
of  a  trustful  landlord  was  a  luxury  which  more  than 
pleased  him. 

Few  there  were  who  knew  Cincinnati  Red's  real  origin 
or  real  name.  He  was  certainly  a  man  of  education  and 
address.  In  the  police  archives  he  was  registered  as 
a  "  con  "  man — which  in  plain  English  means  that  he 
was  a  swindler.  Moreover,  he  was  a  swindler  of  un- 
common resource  and  daring  who  had  a  knowledge  of 
every  trick  in  the  game.  He  had  been  bunco-steerer, 
gold-brick  man,  sawdust  man  long  before  these  swindles 
became  threadbare.  He  always  managed  to  keep  a  little 
ahead  of  the  ruck,  and  though  he  had  had  one  or  two 
bad  falls  in  his  time,  he  was  probably,  as  he  would  have 
put  it,  "  ahead  of  the  game." 

He  might  have  been  anything  from  forty  to  sixty. 
His  luxuriant,  once  auburn,  hair  and  moustache  had 
greyed  and  his  ingenuous  frank  hazel  eyes  were  in  them- 
selves a  guarantee  of  integrity.  He  wore  evening  dress 
as  though  he  were  accustomed  to  it  and  his  manner  was 


THE     MAELSTROM 


that  of  an  easy-going  tolerant  man  of  the  world  who 
had  no  enemies  and  thousands  of  friends. 

Now,  an  American  millionaire  with  a  Bohemian  taste 
for  night  clubs  and  a  cosy  flat  where  selected  friends 
of  wealth  may  be  invited  for  no-limit  games  of  chance, 
has  small  fear  of  the  police.  It  is  unlikely  that  a  man 
that  has  dropped  a  hundred  or  two  over  baccarat  or 
poker  will  squeal  to  the  authorities,  even  though  he  sus- 
pects that  something  more  than  luck  has  favoured  his 
charming  host.  Publicity  does  not  appeal  to  him.  And 
for  any  other  than  legal  contingencies  Cincinnati  Red 
was  prepared.  It  caused  a  bulge  in  the  breast  pocket  of 
his  otherwise  well-fitting  dress  coat,  but  that  could 
scarcely  be  avoided.  There  are  few  smaller  reliable 
pistols  than  the  pattern  of  derringer  he  carried. 

So  it  was  with  thoughts  far  removed  from  the  sordid 
commonplaces  of  crime  that  he  pressed  the  bell  and  sum- 
moned his  man  to  help  him  on  with  his  overcoat.  He 
made  his  way  with  dignity  down  into  the  street  and 
stopped  for  a  moment  on  the  curb  to  light  his  cigarette. 

A  couple  of  men  sauntered  towards  him.  The  taller 
of  the  two  halted  as  they  came  opposite.  "  Isn't  your 
name  Tomkins  ?  "  he  asked. 

Cincinnati  finished  lighting  his  cigarette,  dropped  the 
match  and  ground  the  light  out  under  his  heel  before 
replying.  "  No,  my  man,"  he  drawled,  "  you've  made 
a  mistake.  My  name  is  Whiffen." 

He  calmly  ignored  his  questioner  and  held  up  a  slim 
[125] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


cane  in  his  left  hand  for  a  taxi-cab.  Someone  gripped 
his  right  wrist  and  he  wheeled  in  wrathful  surprise.  As 
he  did  so  his  other  hand  was  caught.  He  made  no 
resistance.  His  attitude  was  one  of  dignified  and  lofty 
indignation. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Leave  me  alone  in- 
stantly or  I  will  call  the  police." 

"  That's  all  right,"  observed  one  of  his  captors 
quietly.  "  We  are  police  officers  ourselves.  Jump  in, 

Alf.  I've  got  him.  .  .  .  Now  then All  right, 

driver.  Scotland  Yard." 

It  was  as  though  they  were  handling  a  bale  of  goods, 
so  neatly  and  impersonally  was  the  whole  thing  effected. 
Cincinnati  Red  had  been  for  once  taken  off  his  guard. 
He  was  more  staggered  than  his  manner  showed.  That 
the  police  should  know  of  his  presence  in  London  was 
not  astonishing.  It  was  to  be  expected.  That  they 
should  know  exactly  where  to  lay  hands  on  him  was  a 
different  thing.  He  thought  he  had  covered  his  traces 
effectually — that  no  one  could  guess  that  Wilfred  S. 
Whiffen,  who  lived  unostentatiously  and  well  at  Palace 
Avenue  was  Cincinnati  Red,  whose  record  occupied  a 
prominent  place  in  the  police  registers  of  half  a  dozen 
countries.  What  puzzled  him  still  more  was  the  mere 
fact  that  even  knowing  him,  the  police  should  trouble  to 
arrest  him.  Since  his  arrival  in  England  there  was  noth- 
ing they  could  hold  against  him,  as  far  as  he  knew.  He 
was  as  dead  certain  as  he  cared  to  be  about  anything 

[126] 


that  none  of  his  victims  had  invoked  the  aid  of  the 
law. 

The  only  reasonable  supposition  was  that  this  was 
a  sort  of  bluff  that  was  intended  to  frighten  him  out  of 
the  country.  He  resolved  to  sit  tight. 

"  If  you  people  really  are  police  officers,"  he  declared 
acidly,  "  this  foolishness  will  cost  you  your  positions.  I 
may  tell  you  I  am  well  known  in  the  best  circles  both 
here  and  in  New  York." 

His  captors  remained  unimpressed.  Cincinnati  Red 
had  been  "  rubbed  down  "  before  and  he  recognised  the 
touch  of  efficient  hands.  One  of  the  officers  thrust  a 
hand  into  his  breast  pocket  and  produced  the  derringer. 

"  Handy  little  thing,  Alf,"  he  commented. 

"Will  you  answer  me,  my  man?"  said  Cincinnati, 
accentuating  every  word  slowly.  "  Am  I  under  arrest, 
and  if  so,  what  for.  I  insist  on  being  told.  You  will 
hear  more  of  this."  He  was  annoyed  in  reality  and  a 
vague  alarm  was  growing  in  his  breast. 

"  You  keep  quiet,  old  lad,"  said  one  of  his  captors 
with  more  familiarity  than  was  consistent  with  the  status 
of  Wilfred  S.  Whiffen,  whatever  it  might  be  with  Cin- 
cinnati Red.  "  You'll  learn  all  about  it  soon  enough. 
Nobody's  going  to  hurt  you." 

"  That  isn't  the  point.  I  insist  upon  knowing  what 
all  this  is  about.  I  have  an  appointment  with  Lord 
Windermere  and " 

"  He  will  talk,"  interrupted  one  of  the  officers 
[127] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


wearily.  "  Say,  sonny,  suppose  you  give  it  a  rest  for 
five  minutes.  Lord  Windermere  will  have  to  wait.  Oh ! 
Here  we  are." 

Very  few  criminals  are  taken  to  Scotland  Yard  on 
detention,  whatever  the  reader  of  popular  fiction  is  ac- 
customed to  suppose.  And  that  fact  gave  Cincinnati 
Red  something  to  surmise  upon  as  he  was  ushered  into 
the  soft-carpeted  room  where  Weir  Menzies  and  Heldon 
Foyle  awaited  him. 

They  both  rose  with  the  welcoming  smile  of  old  ac- 
quaintances. His  escort  had  vanished.  "  That  you?  " 
said  Foyle,  beaming.  "  Say,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Cin- 
cinnati. You're  looking  top  hole,  too." 

"  Sit  right  down,"  added  Menzies.  "  Hope  you've 
not  been  put  to  any  inconvenience.  We  told  our  chaps 
not  to  alarm  you." 

Cincinnati  Red  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  sus- 
picion working  behind  his  bland  countenance.  He  had 
in  his  time  passed  through  the  hands  of  both  the  de- 
tectives and  it  was  useless  keeping  up  the  pose  he  had 
adopted  with  the  younger  men.  Still  this  assumption 
of  friendliness  was  beyond  him. 

"  Well,  you've  got  me  here,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
suavely.  "  I  didn't  invite  myself  and  I've  got  business 
to  attend  to."  He  pulled  off  his  gloves  and  dangled 
them  in  one  hand.  "  It's  rather  rough  on  a  man  when 
he  has  achieved  a  position  for  himself  and  is  on  the  level 
again " 

[128] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  And  you're  on  the  level,"  said  Menzies,  rolling  a 
pen  between  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  Well,  I  think  it 
is  a  shame  to  drag  an  honest  workingman  " — his  eye 
wandered  meditatively  over  Cincinnati's  faultless  even- 
ing dress — "  away  from  his  j  ob — especially  as  the  night 
clubs  will  soon  be  open.  What  line  of  commerce  have 
you  established  yourself  in?  " 

Cincinnati  returned  his  glance  more  hurt  than  angry. 
Foyle  struck  in  before  he  could  reply. 

"  Let  him  alone,  Menzies.  What'll  you  have,  Cin- 
cinnati? I've  got  some  of  the  real  rye  here — or  would 
you  prefer  anything  else  ?  " 

It  is  unusual  for  an  officer  of  the  C.  I.  to  work  with 
his  desk  flanked  with  a  decanter  of  rye  whisky.  It  is 
still  more  unusual  for  him  to  profer  hospitality  to  a 
crook  in  the  very  headquarters  of  police.  Cincinnati 
became  wary.  He  did  not  know  what  was  going  to 
happen,  but  he  wanted  to  keep  his  head  clear. 

"  Nothing,  I  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  Just  as  you  like.  I  thought  you  might  like  a  drink 
while  we  had  a  talk  over  things." 

Cincinnati  knew  as  well  as  the  men  who  faced  him 
that  the  whole  proceedings  were  totally  irregular.  They 
had  no  shadow  of  right  to  detain  him  while  no  charge 
was  hanging  over  his  head.  He  would  have  been  justified 
in  walking  straight  out  of  the  building.  Yet  he  knew 
Foyle  and  he  knew  Menzies,  and  he  knew,  in  spite  of 
their  apparent  friendliness,  things  might  become  un- 

[129] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


pleasant  if  he  took  a  high  line.  He  flicked  a  speck  of 
dust  off  his  boots  with  his  glove. 

"  Don't  be  shy,"  he  urged. 

"  Where's  Ling?  "  questioned  Menzies  abruptly.  His 
ruddy  face  had  lost  its  good  nature.  He  was  leaning 
forward  with  hard,  fierce  eyes  barely  a  couple  of  inches 
from  the  "  con "  man's  face.  The  quickness  of  the 
question  and  harshness  of  his  manner  were  all  carefully 
calculated  to  make  an  impression  that  would  throw  the 
other  off  his  balance. 

Cincinnati  seemed  unperturbed.  "  So  you're  hunt- 
ing up  Ling.  What's  he  been  doing?  On  my  soul  I 
wish  I  could  help  you.  I  don't  like  Ling." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Foyle  twisted 
his  swivel  chair  and  lifted  one  of  a  row  of  speaking- 
tubes  behind  him.  It  was  a  simple,  undramatic  action, 
but  somehow  the  "  con  "  man's  pulse  beats  quickened. 
The  superintendent  paused  with  the  tube  in  his  hand. 

"  You've  got  a  clean  sheet,  of  course?  "  he  asked,  and 
his  voice,  though  quiet,  was  threatening.  "  Nothing  we 
can  hold  you  for?  Or  shall  I  put  a  wire  through  to 
Rome  and  Paris  and  New  York?  " 

Now  there  had  been  incidents  in  Cincinnati  Red's 
career  as  in  those  of  every  professional  crook  wherein 
the  law  had  not  claimed  the  penalty  which  was  its  due. 
It  sometimes  happens  that  only  the  most  grave  of  a 
series  of  crimes  is  selected  for  definite  legal  punishment. 
There  were  cases  that  still  might  be  proceeded  with 
[130] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


against  the  "  con  "  man  if  the  blue-eyed  superintendent 
chose  to  induce  his  international  colleagues  to  rake  the 
cold  ashes  together. 

"  Don't  rush  a  man,"  protested  Cincinnati  Red,  a 
little  less  coolly.  "  I  was  saying  that  I'd  help  you  if 
I  could." 

"  Then  get  down  to  it,"  snapped  Menzies.  "  We're 
in  a  hurry." 

"  The  sweat  box  "  is  an  institution  unknown  in  Eng- 
lish police  circles.  Nevertheless,  the  "  con  "  man  found 
certain  similarities  in  the  conduct  of  the  swift  and  re- 
lentless examination  of  the  two  detectives.  They  gave 
him  little  time  for  invention  even  had  he  been  disposed 
to  mislead  them.  But  like  most  of  his  type  he  put  his 
own  skin  first,  even  if  it  came  to  betraying  an  acquaint- 
ance into  the  hands  of  justice. 

"  Guess  I'll  have  a  drink,  after  all,"  he  said.  He 
swallowed  a  draught  Foyle  handed  him  in  a  quick  gulp. 
"  I'll  trust  you  not  to  let  any  of  the  boys  know  I  have 
said  anything,"  he  declared.  "  I  saw  Ling  about  a 
week  ago  and  I've  known  he  had  something  big  on  for 
some  months.  You  gentlemen  know  that  I  used  to  have 
considerable  dealings  with  him.  He'd  shoot  on  sight 
if  he  guessed.  ..." 

"  You  were  one  of  the  layers  down  in  that  forged  cir- 
cular note  stunt  of  his,"  remarked  Menzies.  "  Yes,  we 
know  all  about  that.  Five  years  you  got  in  Paris,  wasn't 
it?  " 

[131] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  Three,"  corrected  Cincinnati.  "  You'd  have 
thought,"  he  went  on  with  more  bitterness,  "  that  he'd 
have  let  me  in  on  the  ground  floor  of  any  fresh  job,  see- 
ing how  I  had  the  brunt  of  that.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
an  accident  we'd  have  made  a  pile.  But  no.  He  said 
they  were  full  up." 

The  two  detectives  exchanged  glances.  Cincinnati 
Red,  clever  man  though  he  was,  had  always  been  viewed 
with  a  certain  amount  of  not  altogether  unjustified  dis- 
trust by  his  associates  in  the  underworld.  The  phrase  in 
the  letter  warning  Gwennie  not  to  trust  Cincinnati  too 
much  occurred  to  them. 

"  A  lucky  thing  for  you,  too,"  observed  Foyle.  "  Go 
on." 

"Well,  whatever  the  job  is  Gwennie  Lyne  is  in  it. 
Ling  said  he  might  have  to  lay  close  for  a  bit,  but  there 
might  be  a  chance  for  me  to  sit  in  the  game  later  on. 
That  was  to  sweeten  me,  you  bet.  He  wanted  me  to  keep 
in  touch  with  Gwennie — she  lives  down  at  Brixton 
now.  ..." 

"What  address?"  asked  Menzies.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  gained  by  giving  Cincinnati  Red  any  sort  of  a 
hint  as  to  how  far  they  were  able  to  check  his  story. 
He  gravely  wrote  down  the  address — the  correct  one — 
given  by  the  "  con  "  man. 

"  Well,"  went  on  Cincinnati,  "  it's  no  good  asking  me 
what  the  job  is,  because,  honest  injun,  I  don't  know  " 
he  shot  a  sideways  glance  at  them — "  you'll  be  more  clear 

[132] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


on  that  than  I  am.    All  I  know  is  that  it's  a  big  thing." 

"  Do  you  know  a  Miss  Olney — Miss  Lucy  Olney?  " 

Cincinnati  shook  his  head.  "  Never  heard  the  name 
before." 

Two  pairs  of  eyes  were  watching  him  closely.  The 
chief  inspector  gave  a  slight  cough  into  his  moustache. 
So  far  the  swindler  had  been  convincingly  plausible  and 
if  he  were  more  deeply  involved  in  the  mystery  than  he 
appeared  to  be,  he  had  taken  a  cunning  line.  "  How  did 
you  come  to  take  a  flat  in  Palace  Avenue?  "  demanded 
Foyle. 

"  Well,"  said  Cincinnati  slowly,  "  I  don't  know  there 
was  any  special  reason  why  I  should  take  it  there  more 
than  anywhere  else " 

"  Answer  the  question — quick,"  demanded  Menzies ; 
"  don't  talk  round  it." 

"  It  was  Ling  who  told  me  the  place  was  to  let." 

"  Ah.  And  I  suppose  you  got  your  references  from 
him?" 

"  That's  so.  But  don't  you  run  away  with  any  de- 
lusions, Mr.  Menzies.  I've  paid  my  rent  regularly  and 
honestly."  Cincinnati  was  plainly  grieved  at  the  re- 
flection on  his  integrity. 

"  We'll  take  your  word.  But  I  thought  you  weren't 
very  friendly  with  Ling.  Why  should  he  go  out  of  his 
way  to  do  you  a  favour?  " 

Cincinnati  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  it  didn't 
cost  him  anything,  I  suppose.  He  said  he  might  want 
[133] 


me  to  chip  in  sometime  and  it  was  handy  for  Gwennie 
and  him  to  know  where  I  was.  He  used  to  run  up  and 
see  me  sometimes.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"  You  haven't  said  how  you  were  to  communicate 
with  Ling.  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  is.  Last  I  saw  of  him  was 
when  he  used  to  take  meals  at  the  Petit  Savoy — you 
know  that  little  restaurant  in  Soho.  He  hasn't  always 
been  there  lately.  Sometimes  a  chap  named  Dago  Sam 
used  to  come  instead.  If  I  got  any  urgent  message  I 
was  to  post  it  to  T.  S.  Charters,  Poste  Restante,  Aid- 
gate." 

"  H'm."  Menzies  wrote  out  the  address  and  looked 
questioningly  at  Foyle. 

"  That'll  do  for  the  present,"  said  the  superinten- 
dent. "  The  point  is  what  arc  we  going  to  do  about 
you?"  He  shook  his  head  at  the  "con"  man. 
"  You're  an  awkward  problem,  you  know." 

"  You  can  trust  me,  Mr.  Foyle,"  said  Cincinnati. 
"  I  know  when  to  keep  my  mouth  shut.  Why,  I  might 
be  able  to  help  you  to  get  hold  of  Ling." 

"  That's  decidedly  an  idea,"  said  Menzies.  "  Wait 
a  minute."  He  dashed  outside  and  returned  accom- 
panied by  the  men  who  had  captured  Cincinnati  Red. 
"  If  you'll  go  with  these  gentlemen,  Mr. — er — Whif- 
fen,"  he  said  politely,  "  Mr.  Foyle  and  I  will  talk  things 
over  and  see  what  is  to  be  done." 

[134] 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  HALF  smile  of  triumph  was  on  Menzies'  face  as  he 
returned  to  his  seat.  "  Ling  is  a  judge  of  character," 
he  said  with  a  contemptuous  jerk  of  the  head  in  the 
direction  of  the  door.  "  That  chap  would  sell  his  father, 
and  mother,  and  brothers,  and  sisters  to  save  his  own 
skin.  Pah !  " 

"  Handle  him  easy  all  the  same,"  exhorted  the  su- 
perintendent. "  He's  a  nasty  man  to  get  in  a  corner. 
He  had  a  gun  on  me  once  in  a  saloon  and  if  I  hadn't 
been  a  quick  shot  with  a  beer  bottle — well,  I  wouldn't 
be  talking  to  you  now.  Hello !  Good  evening,  Sir 
Hilary." 

The  gaunt  figure  of  the  assistant  commissioner  had 
entered  the  room,  an  open  newspaper  in  his  hand. 
"  Good  evening.  They  told  me  you  were  here,  Menzies. 
Seen  the  Evening  Comet?  They've  got  a  new  clue 
for  you.  Seems  that  Greye-Stratton  was  a  defaulting 
member  of  the  Black  Hand.  It's  true,  because  its  spe- 
cial commissioner  has  found  certain  cabalistic  marks 
chalked  on  the  pavement  which  no  one  is  able  to  deci- 
pher. Here's  a  photograph.  Scotland  Yard — that's 
one  of  you  two,  I  suppose — is  extremely  reticent  and 
would  express  no  opinion  when  approached  on  the  sub- 
ject. Two  columns." 

"  So  that  torn-fool  published  it,"  said  Foyle,  his  eyes 
[135] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


twinkling  behind  his  glasses.  "  He  found  some  boy 
scout  marks  about  a  hundred  yards  away  from  the 
house  and  came  up  here  full  of  it.  He  wasn't  quite 
sure  whether  it  was  the  Black  Hand  or  the  High  Bind- 
ers, but  he's  certain  he's  on  the  track  and  he  left  a 
photograph  for  you,  Menzies." 

"  Obliged,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  chief  inspector  shortly. 

"  How  are  things  shaping?  "  asked  Thornton. 

"  Moderate,  sir,  moderate,"  answered  Menzies. 
"  We've  just  been  talking  to  a  gentleman  who  may  be 
of  some  use — but  I'm  not  dead  certain  yet."  He  fished 
in  his  pocket  and  produced  some  notes.  "  We've  brushed 
away  a  lot  of  the  fog  at  the  beginning  of  the  case  and 
we've  got  something  to  concentrate  on.  I  never  like 
to  be  confident,  but  we've  got  heaps  of  suspicion  to 
bring  against  one  or  two  people  and  the  evidence  may 
come  along.  It  makes  it  easier  in  a  way  that  some  of 
them  are  known  crooks." 

Thornton  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  He  jerked  his  coat-tails  to  and 
fro.  "  I  don't  follow  that  altogether.  I  used  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  easier  to  run  down  an  amateur  than 
a  professional.  Surely  their  experience  will  help  'em 
to  blind  the  trail." 

"  That's  partly  right,"  agreed  Menzies,  "  but  it  cuts 

both  ways.     I  can  judge  of  my  difficulties.     Now  I'm 

not  clear  about  a  lot  of  things,  but  I've  got  ideas  on 

which  I've  not  reported  yet  because  they  may  turn  out 

[136] 


all  wrong.  The  point  on  which  we  are  clear  now  is  that 
robbery — at  least  straightforward  robbery — was  not 
the  motive  of  the  murder.  Revenge  is  a  possibility. 
Errol,  Greye-Stratton's  step-son,  hated  him  like  poison 
and  it  is  clear  that  the  old  man  dreaded  some  attempt 
on  his  life — though  that  may  have  been  pure  mono- 
mania with  no  foundation  in  fact  at  all.  All  the  same 
Errol  is  the  pivot  on  which  we  have  to  work.  I,  at  one 
time,  supposed  him  the  actual  murderer.  I  am  not  so 
certain  now.  Errol — by  the  way,  we  haven't  found 
what  name  he  passes  under  yet — and  his  sister  are  liv- 
ing in  London  apart  from  each  other  and  apart  from 
the  old  man.  She  is  sole  heiress.  She  is  quietly  mar- 
ried to  Stewart  Reader  Ling — Errol's  pal.  Do  you 
follow  me,  sir?  " 

"  That's  plain — and  plausible  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said 
Sir  Hilary.  "  It  supplies  a  powerful  motive.  But,  to 
be  frank,  it  doesn't  do  much  else." 

"  I  don't  pretend  it  does,/'  said  Menzies.  "  It  would 
be  mighty  thin  to  put  before  a  jury  by  itself,  as  you 
say.  But  now  we  come  to  Hallett.  He  hears  a  quarrel 
in  the  fog.  A  woman  pursued  by  a  man  rushes  up  to 
him  and  puts  a  bundle  of  cheques  into  his  hand.  He 
goes  to  Greye-Stratton's  house  and  is  admitted  about 
the  time  of  the  murder  and  knocked  out  by  a  man  whose 
face  he  never  saw.  Twice  he  was  brought  into  contact 
with  a  man — or  possibly  two  men — who  must  know  a 
great  deal  about  the  case.  And  yet  he  never  saw  them." 

[137] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  I  thought  you  were  convinced  of  his  honesty,"  said 
Thornton.  "  I  myself  believe  he's  perfectly  clear." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Foyle. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  went  on  Menzies.  "  But  this  is 
significant.  Does  the  man  who  was  in  the  fog,  does  the 
man  who  was  in  the  house,  know  that  Hallett  never  saw 
his  features?  We  get  the  attempt  to  silence  him  first  by 
threats,  then  by  a  pistol  shot,  then  by  abduction.  This 
part,  at  any  rate,  links  up  some  evidence.  The  Greye- 
Stratton  girl's  name  is  used  to  lure  him  to  Gwennie 
Lyne's  house.  If  she  wrote  the  note  herself — and, 
mind  you,  we've  no  proof  she  didn't — that  connects  her 
with  Gwennie  and  the  rest.  I'm  pretty  positive  in  my 
own  mind  that  she  was  the  woman  of  the  fog  and  that 
Hallett  knows  it — and  she  knows  he  knows.  We  carry 
the  linking  up  closer  by  one  of  the  burnt  notes  we 
found,  which  warns  Gwennie  Lyne  that  Hallett  must  be 
silenced  at  all  costs.  We  guess  that's  Ling's  writing 
and  may  be  able  to  prove  it.  We've  got  collaboration  in 
some  plot — whether  it's  the  murder  of  Greye-Stratton 
or  not — partly  established  at  any  rate." 

"  But  the  cheques,"  said  Thornton.  "  How  do  you 
explain  the  cheques  ?  " 

"  I  don't.  I'll  own  they're  beyond  me  at  the  moment. 
None  of  our  enquiries  have  thrown  any  light  on  that, 
though  we  found  some  burnt  stubs  which  may  be  the 
counterfoils  in  Gwennie's  grate.  However,  that  may 
be  one  of  those  things  capable  of  a  quite  simple  expla- 

[138] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


nation  at  the  right  moment.  Now  there's  the  man  we've 
just  been  talking  to — Cincinnati  Red.  Of  course,  he's 
a  crook  and  he  wouldn't  show  up  well  under  cross- 
examination  if  we  should  want  to  put  him  in  the  box. 
But  what  he  says  goes  to  help  my  ideas.  He  points  out 
that  Ling  and  Gwennie  have  had  some  big  scheme  on 
about  which  they've  been  very  close.  I'll  not  deny  that 
I  may  have  built  up  the  wrong  theory — time  will  show — 
but  it's  got  a  framework  of  facts  and  I  can't  see  that 
they  fit  any  other  theory." 

"  How  about  Miss  Greye-Stratton — Mrs.  Ling? " 
asked  Foyle. 

Menzies  scratched  an  eyebrow.  "  She's  difficult,"  he 
admitted.  "  Whether's  she's  deliberately  in  the  game  or 
not  it's  hard  to  say.  She's  told  Hallett  something,  too, 
but  she  seems  to  have  hypnotised  him.  He's  as  tight  as 
a  nut  when  it  comes  to  her.  I've  got  hopes  that  I  may 
make  him  see  reason  and  then  I  shall  have  something 
to  go  on  from  the  inside." 

"  You're  going  out  with  Cincinnati?  "  said  the  super- 
intendent switching  off  the  discussion.  "  I  know  you're 
prejudiced  against  guns,  but  if  you  are  I  think  I'd  put 
one  in  my  pocket.  You  want  to  take  care  with  the  mob 
you're  handling." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Menzies  casually.  "  I'd  as 
likely  as  not  hit  the  wrong  person  if  I  pulled  a  trigger. 
I'm  taking  Royal.  He  can  have  one  if  he  likes.  He's 
out  looking  after  Hallett  just  now.  The  pair  of  them 

[139] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


are  eating  somewhere.  I  daren't  leave  that  young  man 
alone  or  he'll  be  trying  the  amateur  detective  game 
again." 

"  Suit  yourself  then.  Only  don't  blame  me  if  Ling 
and  his  pals  lay  you  out." 

"  I'll  look  after  that,"  retorted  Menzies. 

He  disappeared  into  his  own  room  and  changed  the 
ink-stained  alpaca  jacket  of  office  use  for  a  tweed  one. 
Then  he  sent  a  messenger  out  for  Royal.  The  detec- 
tive-sergeant and  Jimmie  Hallett  shortly  showed  up. 
Menzies  took  them  along  to  the  subdued  "  con  "  man, 
who  was  smoking  his  twelfth  cigarette  and  returning 
curt  monosyllables  to  the  attempts  of  one  of  his  guar- 
dians to  drag  him  into  conversation. 

"  Here  we  are,  Cincinnati,"  announced  the  chief  in- 
spector cheerily.  "  Think  we  were  never  coming?  This 
is  a  fellow-countryman  of  yours.  Mr.  Hallett — Mr. 
Whiffle." 

"  Whiffen,"  corrected  Cincinnati  Red. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Whiffen  it  is.  To 
us  and  to  some  of  the  Central  Office  folk  he  answers  to 
the  name  of  Cincinnati  Red." 

A  flush  mounted  Cincinnati  Red's  handsome  face.  It 
was  a  curious  thing  that  this  man,  known  as  a  cunning 
felon  in  a  dozen  countries,  should  resent  the  tactless- 
ness that  introduced  him  to  a  fellow-American  by  a 
nickname.  He  bowed  austerely. 

"  We  thought  of  taking  a  walk  down  to  the  Petit 
[140] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Savoy,"  went  on  Menzies.  "  We  might  see  that  pal  of 
jours  there." 

"  Oh,  come,  I  say,"  remonstrated  Cincinnati. 
"  That's  going  a  bit  beyond  it.  If  anyone  saw  me  get- 
ting around  with  a  couple  of  police  officers  where  would 
I  be?  "  He  spread  his  hands  in  protest. 

"  It  would  get  you  into  bad  odour  with  the  boys, 
wouldn't  it?  "  said  Menzies.  "  Kind  of  hurt  your  repu- 
tation?" 

Cincinnati  Red  was  plainly  alarmed  at  the  course 
events  were  taking.  He  was  not  a  coward,  but  he  never 
asked  for  trouble.  To  give  Ling  away  was  one  thing — 
to  seek  him  out  barefaced  in  the  company  of  detectives 
was  quite  another.  Apart  from  any  danger  which  Ling 
himself  might  threaten  it  would  be  advertising  himself 
to  the  whole  of  the  underworld  as  a  man  definitely  unfit 
to  be  trusted.  Although  his  present  prospects  were 
favourable  enough  there  might  at  any  moment  arise  an 
occasion  for  him  to  co-operate  with  acquaintances  in 
some  fresh  nefarious  scheme. 

"  It  isn't  that,"  he  explained.  "  If  I  was  seen  walk- 
ing with  you  it  would  give  the  game  away." 

The  chief  inspector  twisted  his  fingers  in  his  watch- 
chain.  He  was  as  well  aware  of  the  course  of  Cincin- 
nati's thoughts  as  the  "  con  "  man  himself.  "  Comfort 
yourself,  laddie,"  he  remarked.  "  We  aren't  quite  so 
fresh  as  that.  Mr.  Hallett  here  will  walk  with  you  and 
Royal  and  I  will  look  after  ourselves.  If  you  meet  Ling 

[141] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


or  anyone  else  in  his  mob  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
fiddle  with  the  top  button  of  your  jacket.     Savvy?  " 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Cincinnati. 

"  And — just  in  case  of  accidents — Mr.  Hallett's 
name  is  Mr.  Green — Mr.  Samuel  Green." 

"  Samuel  Green  it  is.    I  understand,  Mr.  Menzies." 

Jimmie  Hallett  found  the  walk  through  the  West 
End  streets  not  without  interest.  Had  not  the  circum- 
stances of  the  introduction  told  him  that  Mr.  Whiffen 
was  a  crook  he  would  have  had  difficulty  in  arriving 
at  that  conclusion.  Cincinnati  Red  could  be  a  delight- 
ful companion  when  he  chose.  It  was  part  of  his  pro- 
fession. He  had  read  widely  and  well,  and  his  study  of 
human  nature  had  been  vast.  As  a  student  of  the  news- 
papers he  knew  that  Jimmie  had  been  the  first  to  raise 
an  alarm  after  the  murder,  but  not  until  now  had  he 
supposed  that  Ling  had  any  connection  with  the  crime. 
He  laid  himself  out  to  pump  Jimmie,  but  with  little 
success.  Hallett  was  willing  enough  to  talk,  but  Cin- 
cinnati speedily  found  that  he  was  expected  to  provide 
any  loose  information  that  might  be  floating  around,  in- 
stead of  obtaining  it.  He  dropped  finesse  and  tried  the 
point-blank  method. 

"  This  is  a  rotten  business  for  anyone  from  across 
the  water  to  walk  into  just  when  they  are  expecting  to 
enjoy  themselves.  I'd  just  hate  to  be  worried  if  I  were 
in  your  place.  How'd  it  come  about,  anyway?  Did  you 
know  Greye-Stratton  before?  " 
[142] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  It's  a  long  story,"  parried  Jimmie  warily.  "  What 
about  this  Ling  man?  Known  him  long?  " 

"  Some  years,"  said  Cincinnati.  "•  You  must  net 
imagine,  Mr.  Hallett,  that  because  of  the  circumstances 
in  which  we've  met  I  am  just  a  crook.  I've  had  mis- 
fortunes. I  made  a  mistake  once  and  I've  paid  for  it. 
You  know  what  the  police  are — they're  the  same  all 
over  the  world.  They  don't  forgive  men  for  rising 
from  their  dead  selves.  I've  come  to  this  country  to 
start  over  again  and  my  hands  are  clean.  Yet  here  I 
am  pulled  into  this  because  I  once  knew  Ling.  You 
saw  the  offensive  manner  of  the  ill-bred  vulture 
Menzies  just  now.  I  daren't  resent  it." 

Jimmie  had  heard  the  same  story  before.  Police 
persecution  is  an  unfailing  text  for  the  habitual  crim- 
inal. He  scrutinised  Mr.  Whiffen  with  smiling  incredu- 
lity. 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  Ling's  wife  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  His  wife?  "  ejaculated  Cincinnati.  "  I  didn't  know 
he  was  married." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  said  Jimmie.     "  That's  all." 

He  followed  Cincinnati  through  the  swing  doors  of 
the  Petit  Savoy  and  a  waiter  glided  forward  to  lead 
them  to  a  table.  Cincinnati  brushed  him  aside  and 
led  the  way  through  the  throng  of  diners  to  a  further 
room.  Jimmie  Hallett  had  to  seek  the  support  of  a 
chair  to  steady  himself.  He  heard  Cincinnati  Red 
speaking  as  one  far  off. 

[143] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  Hullo,  old  man.  How  are  you?  Shake  hands  with 
my  friend  here — Mr.  Samuel  G.  Green  from  Mobile." 

The  clean-shaven,  keen-eyed  man  whom  Cincinnati 
had  omitted  to  name  was  shaking  hands  with  him  across 
the  table.  But  Jimmie  paid  little  attention  to  him. 
For  by  his  side,  half  risen  from  her  chair,  wide-eyed 
and  astonished,  was  Peggy  Greye-Stratton. 


[144] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  You ! "  she  gasped.    "  You  here  ?  " 

He,  too,  was  taken  aback.  For  a  moment  he  was 
incapable  of  consecutive  thought.  He  had  fiercely  com- 
bated, even  to  himself,  Menzies'  theory  that  she  was  a 
willing  associate  of  the  people  who  were  being  hunted 
down.  But  this  encounter  staggered  his  faith.  If  the 
Scotland  Yard  man's  suspicions  were  right  it  was  not 
at  all  a  surprising  thing  that  she  should  be  dining  quietly 
with  Ling — Ling,  her  husband  and  the  master  brain  of 
the  conspiracy.  Yet  so  assiduously  had  Jimmie  accus- 
tomed himself  to  believe  that  she  was  rather  a  victim 
than  an  accomplice  that  her  presence  came  upon  him 
as  a  shock. 

"You  know  my — this  lady?"  someone  said  as 
though  mildly  interested. 

Jimmie  pulled  himself  together.  He  threw  a  back- 
ward glance  at  the  door.  Menzies  and  Royal  had  not 
yet  appeared. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  he  answered  with  a  fine  as- 
sumption of  coolness.  "Miss  Olney,  isn't  it?  Can  I 
have  a  word  with  you?  "  He  beckoned  her  aside,  the 
eyes  of  the  other  two  men  following  them  with  curiosity. 
"Is  that  man  Ling?"  he  whispered. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.     "  What " 

He  cut  her  short.  "  This  is  no  time  for  questions. 
[145] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


The  police  are  immediately  behind  us.  They  are  go- 
ing to  arrest  him,  and  maybe  you,  too.  You  must  get 
away  at  once."  He  signalled  to  a  waiter.  "  Is  there 
another  way  out?  Some  people  are  coming  in  at  the 
front  whom  we  don't  want  to  meet." 

A  gleam  of  gold  between  his  fingers  transformed  the 
waiter  into  a  quick  ally.  "  If  you  will  step  this  way, 
sir — this  way,  madam."  He  pushed  forward  half  a 
dozen  steps  and  flung  open  a  door.  They  descended  a 
couple  of  steps  into  a  derelict  side  street,  and  Ling, 
who  had  watched  them  with  a  puzzled  frown,  turned 
to  Cincinnati  as  they  disappeared. 

"  What  in  thunder's  the  game  ?  " 

"  Blest  if  I  know,"  said  Cincinnati.  "  Who's  your 
lady  friend?  She  seemed  surprised  to  see  my  friend." 
He  was  fumbling  with  the  buttons  of  his  coat. 

Suspicion  sat  black  and  lowering  on  Ling's  face. 
His  hand  dropped  to  his  jacket  pocket  and  Cincinnati 
had  a  little  apprehensive  thrill  as  he  heard  a  faint  click 
and  the  bottom  corner  of  the  jacket  pocket  poked  the 
edge  of  the  table.  He  longed  to  look  round  to  see  if 
Menzies  had  entered  the  room,  but  he  dared  not  turn 
his  head.  A  waiter  glided  to  his  side  and  as  he  picked 
up  the  menu  card,  and  with  deliberation,  gave  his  orders, 
he  felt  Ling's  menacing  gaze  still  upon  him.  The 
waiter  moved  away. 

"  There's  some  monkey  trick  on  the  board,"  said 
Ling  in  a  low  voice.  "  By  God,  I'll  plug  if  you 

[146] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


don't  tell  me  what's  on.  What  are  you  doing  with 
Hallett?  Why  did  you  bring  him  here?  Answer.  If 
you  move  or  turn  a  hair  I'll  blow  a  hole  through  you, 
you  dog ! " 

Cincinnati  was  between  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea — 
with  the  detectives  behind  and  a  desperate  man  in  front. 
"  Easy  does  it,  Stewart,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  Easy 
does  it.  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

Between  clenched  teeth  Ling  spat  a  vicious  oath  at 
him.  His  eyes  shot  up  and  down  the  crowded  aisles  of 
the  restaurant,  always  coming  back  to  Cincinnati  Red's 
face.  There  was  a  white  scar  an  inch  long  above  his  left 
eye  which  now  showed  crimson,  giving  him  an  indescrib- 
ably sinister  appearance.  He  withdrew  his  right  hand 
from  his  pocket,  keeping  it  concealed  with  a  serviette. 
The  serviette  lay  at  last  carelessly  crumpled  in  front 
of  him  and  his  hand  was  under  it. 

"  See  that  ?  "  he  growled  menacingly.  "  There's  two 
men  just  come  in.  Pals  of  yours,  I  guess.  You'd  bet- 
ter get  your  thinking  apparatus  started,  for  if  those 
splits  offer  to  come  near  me  it's  going  to  be  an  almighty 
bad  time  for  you.  You'd  try  to  put  it  across  me,  you 
tin  horn !  I  tell  you,  if  I  go  out  of  this  place  with  the 
cuffs  on,  you'll  go  out  feet  first.  Think  it  out  quick, 
you  dirty  squealer." 

Cincinnati  Red  was  frightened,  badly  frightened, 
though  his  face  did  not  show  it,  save  perhaps  that  it 
was  whiter  than  usual.  The  waiter  placed  a  plate  of 

[147] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


soup  before  him  and  his  hand  was  steady  as  he  lifted 
the  spoon.  Ling  himself,  in  spite  of  his  passion,  had 
lowered  his  tone  and  not  a  soul  in  the  room  beyond 
themselves  knew  that  they  were  within  measurable  dis- 
tance of  tragedy.  \ 

"  That  back  door  those  others  used,"  he  said  quickly ; 
"  slip  out.  I'll  hold  the  bulls  back." 

The  serviette  stirred  impatiently.  "  Not  on  your  tin- 
type, my  son.  You  don't  pass  on  this  hand.  You'll 
stick  closer  to  me  than  a  brother.  I'll  trust  you — while 
my  finger's  on  a  gun  and  the  gun  on  you." 

Menzies  and  Royal  had  seated  themselves  three  or 
four  tables  away.  Nothing  seemingly  was  of  less  in- 
terest to  them  than  the  two  crooks. 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything,"  protested  Cincinnati 
sullenly. 

"  How  much  do  they  know  ?  "  asked  Ling  sharply. 

"  They  raided  Gwennie's  shanty  this  morning. 
They're  after  her,  but  you  mainly." 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  hell  of  a  lot,"  commented 
Ling  crisply.  "  I  suppose  you've  arranged  to  give  'em 
the  office  when  they're  to  pull  me.  That  would  have 
been  all  right  if  Hallett  hadn't  gone  off  at  half  cock. 
Now  the  surprise  packet  is  going  to  be  mine.  I'm 
going  to  drink  this  liqueur  and  my  attention  is  going  to 
seem  to  wander  off  you  for  a  little  minute — only  seem^ 
mind  you.  There's  a  menu  card  down  by  your  hand. 
You've  got  a  pencil.  Now  write  on  that  that  I  suspect 

[148] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


nothing — that  I'm  going  to  take  you  round  now  to 
the  spot  where  the  rest  of  the  boys  are.  Then  give  it 
to  the  waiter  to  pass  to  them." 

The  astuteness  of  the  move  appealed  to  Cincinnati. 
Ling  was  playing  for  time,  to  avoid  immediate  arrest. 
If  the  detectives  thought  they  would  make  a  bigger  haul 
by  postponing  matters  they  would  do  so.  The  "  con  " 
man  had  no  conscientious  scruples  about  tricking  them, 
but  he  was  uneasy  when  he  thought  of  the  hints  which 
Foyle  had  given  him.  If  he  could  have  safely  betrayed 
Ling  he  would.  Still,  life  was,  after  all,  worth  clinging 
to — even  if  a  certain  proportion  of  it  had  to  be  spent 
in  prison.  He  followed  Ling's  instructions  docilely  and 
over  his  shoulder  saw  Menzies  read  the  card  and  nod 
without  looking  up.  Ling  drank  his  liqueur  slowly  and 
there  was  a  more  complacent  expression  about  his  thin 
lips.  Now  that  he  had  obtained  a  respite  he  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  go.  He  regarded  the  "  con  "  man  with 
a  sneer.  "  You're  not  fit  for  this  sort  of  thing,  Cincin- 
nati," he  said  acidly.  "  You  ought  to  stick  to  parlour 
games.  A  yellow  streak  doesn't  matter  there." 

The  other  leaned  back  in  his  chair  unmoved  by  the 
insult.  "  I'm  not  silly  enough  to  butt  my  head  against 
a  brick  wall,"  he  answered  equably.  "  One  of  these 
times  we  may  meet  on  level  terms."  His  eye  dropped 
meaningly  on  the  serviette. 

"  Not  if  I  know  it,"  retorted  Ling.  "  I  like  you  bet- 
ter as  you  are.  You'll  never  be  on  level  terms  with 

[149] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


me.  I  wonder  what  I'll  do  to  you,"  he  went  on  reflec- 
tively. "  Did  you  ever  hear  how  they  used  to  treat 
witches  in  the  old  days  in  Massachusetts?  They  used 
to  stick  red-hot  knitting  needles  through  their 
tongues.  It  always  seemed  to  me  that  wouldn't  be  a 
bad  punishment  for  squealers.'*  He  pushed  back  his 
chair.  "  Get  my  coat,  waiter.  And  this  gentleman's." 

They  marched  out  of  the  restaurant  side  by  side  and 
a  little  walk  brought  them  into  Shaftesbury  Avenue. 
Cincinnati  had  every  nerve  strained  watching  for  an 
opportunity  to  escape.  But  Ling's  vigilance  never  re- 
laxed. "  I've  got  very  attached  to  you  this  last  half 
hour,"  he  explained  in  friendly  tones.  "  I  wouldn't 
lose  you  for  anything.  I  want  to  hear  you  pitch  a  tale 
when  we  get  time.  It'll  be  a  real  pleasure  to  learn  how 
you've  been  working  yourself  to  help  us  and  how  I've 
been  deceived  by  appearances  into  dealing  with  you 
harshly." 

This  tribute  to  his  inventive  faculties  did  not  seem 
to  afford  Cincinnati  Red  any  pronounced  gratification. 
He  grunted  something  unintelligible.  Then :  "  If  I 
were  you,  Stewart,  I'd  take  a  taxi.  We'll  never  throw 
these  splits  off  walking." 

"  Well,  well,"  exclaimed  Ling  in  well-assumed  sur- 
prise. "  It's  you've  got  the  brains.  Fancy  thinking 
of  that.  Never  mind.  The  walk  won't  hurt  us,  and 
perhaps  a  little  exercise'll  do  your  chums  good." 

Cincinnati  doubted  it,  but  did  not  repeat  his  sugges- 
[150] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


tion.  He  was  very  cloudy  as  to  what  his  companion 
proposed  to  do.  The  trick  in  the  restaurant  he  had 
supposed  to  be  but  a  temporary  expedient  of  Ling's  in 
order  to  get  away.  Not  to  give  the  detectives  the  slip 
now  they  were  in  the  open  seemed  like  playing  with 
fire.  He  knew  Ling  as  a  dare-devil,  but  for  a  man 
whose  neck  was  in  jeopardy  he  was  carrying  things 
j  auntily. 

It  was  in  Bloomsbury  that  they  swerved  off  the  main 
road  into  one  of  those  hideous  streets  of  tall  boarding- 
houses  with  iron-railed  areas  and  forbidding  front  doors 
of  mid- Victorian  era. 

"  Nearly  home,  Cincinnati,"  encouraged  Ling. 
"  Now  you'll  be  able  to  see  things  move.  We'll  see  if 
there's  any  knitting  needles  in  the  house  afterwards." 

They  ascended  the  steps  of  one  of  the  most  gloomy 
looking  of  the  houses  and  Ling  inserted  a  key.  He 
carefully  closed  and  bolted  the  door  after  him  and  or- 
dered Cincinnati  forward.  There  was  a  faint  glimmer 
of  light  from  a  gas  lamp  in  the  hall. 

"  The  back  room  will  do  for  us,"  said  Ling.  "  Get 
along." 

A  descent  of  a  couple  of  steps  led  into  a  back  sit- 
ting-room. Ling  pointed  with  his  pistol — he  was  car- 
rying it  openly  in  his  hand  now.  "  There's  a  chair. 
Sit  down.  I  want  you  with  your  back  to  me.  That's 
right.  Now  put  your  arms  behind  your  back  and  keep 
still." 

[151] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Cincinnati  Red  felt  something  encircle  his  wrists  and 
a  lashing  was  dextrously  drawn  tight.  An  involuntary 
cry  escaped  him.  Ling  finished  the  knot  and,  stepping 
in  front,  swung  a  smashing  blow  at  the  bound  man's 
face. 

"  That's  on  account,"  he  said  fiercely.  "  If  you  don't 
keep  still  you'll  get  what's  coming  to  you."  He  thrust 
his  face,  contorted  with  passion,  close  to  that  of  the 
"  con  "  man  and  Cincinnati  shivered.  "  I  can't  do  all 
I'd  like  to,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I'll  pay  the  bill  in  full 
some  other  time — you  bet  I  will." 

He  stooped  and  tied  Cincinnati's  ankles  to  the  chair- 
legs  as  effectively  as  he  had  bound  his  wrists.  Then 
he  lifted  chair  and  all  and  staggered  with  it  into  the 
front  room.  He  placed  it  by  the  curtained  window 
and  stood  for  a  moment  breathless.  Cincinnati  was  no 
light  weight. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  he  said  incisively.  "  I'm  going 
to  turn  up  the  lights  and  draw  the  curtains  back  so 
that  your  head  and  shoulders  can  be  seen  from  the 
street.  Your  detective  pals  will  be  in  sight  somewhere 
and  they'll  be  pleased  to  see  you.  I  shall  be  behind 
the  door  and  don't  forget  I'll  plug  you  good  if  you 
play  foxy.  You've  got  to  shake  your  head  to  them — 
see?  Convey  to  them  that  everything  isn't  quite  ready. 
You  know  how  to  do  it.  Lean  a  bit  forward  as  though 
you  were  talking  to  somebody  they  can't  see.  It's  up 
to  you  to  keep  'em  stalled  off  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

[152] 


He  slipped  the  curtains  back  and  retreated  to  the 
doorway,  out  of  the  direct  line  of  sight  of  anyone  in 
the  street.  Cincinnati  cast  a  casual  glance  out  on  the 
pavement  and  made  a  motion  with  his  head  as  Ling  had 
directed. 

He  had  a  vision  of  Weir  Menzies  posed  precariously 
on  the  iron  railings  four  feet  away.  There  was  a 
smashing  of  glass  as  the  detective  leapt  and  the  "  con  " 
man  heard  a  vehement  oath  from  Ling,  followed  by  two 
sharp  reports  in  quick  succession. 

Menzies  tore  furiously  through  one  of  the  broken 
panes  at  the  window  fastenings.  Presently  he  flung  up 
the  sash  and  half  leapt,  half  tumbled  within.  Congreve 
stayed  without  long  enough  to  put  a  whistle  to  his  lips 
in  swift  summons  and  appeal  and  then  followed  his 
chief. 

Cincinnati  Red  had  fainted  with  a  bullet  wound  in 
his  shoulder. 


[153] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  chief  inspector  hurled  himself  blindly  across  the 
room.  When  a  man  is  shooting  at  short  range  it  is 
advisable  to  get  at  him  as  quickly  as  possible.  But 
Ling  had  no  intention  of  waiting.  His  plans  had  mis- 
carried somehow — it  was  of  no  immediate  importance 
how.  The  chief  thing  was  to  get  away. 

He  took  the  stairs  three  steps  at  a  time  and  flung 
up  the  landing  window  and  cocked  one  leg  through.  The 
back  of  the  house  looked  sheer  on  to  a  builder's  yard 
twenty  feet  below.  He  poised  himself,  swore  as  he 
found  that  a  portion  of  his  clothing  had  become  en- 
tangled in  a  nail  in  the  window  and  turned  momentarily. 
Menzies  saw  his  silhouette  outlined  against  the  window 
for  a  second  and  the  pistol  flamed  again. 

"  The  back  door,  Royal,"  he  roared  as  he  appre- 
hended the  pursued  man's  purpose.  "  Get  to  the  back 
door." 

Then  Ling  leapt.  It  was  a  desperate  feat  in  the  dark- 
ness, but  the  crook's  luck  held.  He  fell  heavily  on  his 
feet  and  hands,  straightened  himself  and  waved  a  hand 
lightly  in  the  direction  of  the  window.  "  Sorry  I  can't 
stop,"  he  cried.  "  Give  my  love  to  Cincinnati,"  and 
disappeared  at  a  dog  trot  behind  piles  of  bricks  and 
stacks  of  drain  pipes. 

Weir  Menzies  drew  a  long  breath.  There  were  pas- 
[154] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


sages  in  the  comminatory  service  which  occurred  to 
him  as  doing  justice  to  the  occasion,  but  he  maintained 
an  eloquent  silence.  Words  were  too  feeble.  He  could 
hear  Royal  striking  matches  and  muttering  softly  to 
himself,  and  the  sound  made  him  feel  better.  He  de- 
scended slowly. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  as  he  met  his  breathless  subor- 
dinate. "  I  know.  There  isn't  any  back  way,  of  course. 
You  can't  think  of  these  things  when  you're  in  a  hurry. 
The  tradesmen's  entrance  is  in  the  basement  in  front. 
He  wouldn't  have  risked  his  neck  had  there  been  any 
other  way." 

"He  got  away,  then?"  said  the  sergeant.  Menzies 
remembered  that  he  always  had  considered  one  of  Con- 
greve's  shortcomings  a  lack  of  tact.  He  answered 
shortly : 

"  Jumped  six  or  seven  yards.  Don't  look  at  me  like 
that.  If  I'd  been  a  lightweight  I  might  have  followed 
him,  but  I'm  getting  too  old  for  such  foolishness. 
Who's  that  at  the  door?  " 

"  I  blew  my  whistle,  sir ;  I  expect  it's  the  uniform 
men.  He  can't  have  got  far.  We  might  run  a  cordon 
round  the  neighbourhood." 

"  Oh,  talk  sense,"  retorted  Menzies  sharply.  "  He 
may  be  a  couple  of  miles  away  before  we  can  get  the 
men.  Hello,  what's  this?" 

He  held  up  his  left  hand.  It  was  dripping  with 
blood.  He  walked  closer  to  the  light  and  examined  it. 
[155] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


with  dispassionate  curiosity.  "  That's  funny,"  he 
commented.  "  I  must  have  got  a  rap  across  the 
knuckles  with  a  bullet."  He  wrapped  his  handkerchief 
around  the  injured  hand.  "  Go  and  open  the  door  or 
those  fools'll  have  it  down.  I'm  going  to  have  a  talk 
with  Cincinnati." 

The  peril  of  capture  in  which  Ling  had  been 
placed  had  not  been  due  entirely  to  luck.  His  fertile 
resources  had  conceived  a  plan  for  a  strategic  retreat 
and  was  intended  to  combine  business  with  pleasure — 
business  in  that  Cincinnati  was  to  keep  the  attention  of 
the  detectives,  while  allowing  him  comparatively  ample 
time,  to  confound  the  active  pursuit  and  pleasure  so  far 
that  he  had  turned  the  tool  of  the  police  against  them- 
selves. 

There  was  only  one  flaw  in  this  scheme  and  that 
flaw  had  all  but  proved  fatal — the  supposition  that  the 
detectives  would  have  implicit  confidence  in  the  good 
faith  of  the  "  con  "  man.  To  one  unprejudiced  or  not 
tensely  strung  up  by  an  emergency  it  might  have  seemed 
an  unlikely  hypothesis.  Weir  Menzies  might  use 
a  crook,  but  he  never  made  the  mistake  of  trusting 
one. 

A  doubt  had  crept  into  Menzies'  mind  at  the  very 
moment  he  arrivecl  at  the  Petit  Savoy  and  observed 
that  Hallett  was  no  longer  with  the  "  con  "  man.  How 
nearly  he  had  been  to  acting  then  in  spite  of  Cincin- 
nati's dictated  note  no  one  but  Royal  knew.  Against 

[156] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


his  instincts  he  had  waited,  but  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  afford  little  rope  to  Ling.  So  it  was  that  he 
had  wasted  no  time  when  they  had  entered  the  house. 
The  latter  part  of  Ling's  stage  management  had  been 
entirely  futile.  For  once  in  a  while  the  chief  inspector 
let  intuition  carry  him  on. 

Able  now  for  the  first  time  to  see  Cincinnati's  pre- 
dicament, he  gave  a  grave  nod  of  comprehension.  Some 
of  the  methods  which  Ling  had  employed  became  clear  to 
him.  He  cut  the  cords  and  slit  away  the  sodden  dress 
coat  at  the  shoulder.  As  deftly  and  gently  as  a  woman 
he  examined  it. 

"  A  clean  flesh  wound,"  he  murmured.  "  Nothing 
much  to  hurt  there.  An  inch  or  two  lower  and  there 
would  have  been  no  need  to  hunt  for  evidence  to  hang 
Ling." 

Royal  had  admitted  a  uniformed  sergeant.  "  I 
haven't  troubled  about  the  cordon,  sir.  It  seems  that 
a  builder's  yard  runs  into  a  street  backing  on  this.  I 
have  sent  a  couple  of  men  round  there." 

"  Right  you  are.  It  might  as  well  be  done  as  a  mat- 
ter of  form.  They'll  not  see  anything  of  Ling,  though. 
He'd  got  this  all  cut  and  dried  and  if  we'd  been  a  little 
later  getting  in  we'd  not  have  had  a  ghost  of  a  notion 
which  way  he'd  gone  at  all.  If  you've  got  a  spare  man 
out  there,  sergeant,  you  might  send  for  a  doctor.  This 
chap's  caught  it." 

Cincinnati  Red  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  uncer- 
[157] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


tainlj.  "  Thought  Ling  was  a  better  shot,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  Hello,  you've  come  round,  have  you  ? "  asked 
Menzies.  "  Sorry  for  you,  Cincinnati.  How  he  came 
to  miss  me  at  that  distance  is  more  than  I  can  fathom. 
I'm  big  enough." 

The  "  con  "  man's  smile  broadened.  "  Say,  you  don't 
know  Ling,  do  you?  He  wasn't  shooting  at  you;  he 
meant  it  for  me,  all  right."  He  winced  with  pain  as 
he  moved  slightly.  "  He  always  pays  his  scores,  does 
Ling.  I  guess  I'll  have  something  to  say  next  time  we 

meet.  If  your  people  hadn't  taken  my  gun  away ! 

He  had  me  covered  from  the  moment  he  saw  me." 

"  I  suspected  that,"  said  Menzies.  "  How'd  you  slip 
Mr.  Hallett?" 

"Me?     Slip  Hallett?"  repeated  Cincinnati. 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

"  He  slipped  me,  you  mean,"  retorted  the  other 
querulously.  "  That's  how  it  was  that  the  whole  thing 
started.  There  was  a  girl  with  Ling.  Hallett  knew 
her  and  carted  her  away  through  a  side-door  just  be- 
fore you  came  in.  I  thought  it  was  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme." 

Menzies  lifted  his  hat  and  scratched  his  hair  with 
the  brim  the  while  he  regarded  Cincinnati  with  a  steady 
stare.  Jimmie  Hallett  had  spoilt  things  again.  There 
was  some  excuse  for  the  bitterness  with  which  his 
thoughts  dwelt  on  that  young  man,  who  seemed  to  have 

[158] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


the  faculty  of  making  himself  a  continual  stumbling 
block  to  the  investigation.  Menzies  had  something  of 
a  taste  for  romance — in  fiction.  He  even  had  no  ob- 
jection to  it  in  real  life  as  a  general  rule.  But  he  hated 
it  when  it  became  entangled  in  his  business,  as  it  often 
did.  One  can  as  little  be  certain  of  what  a  woman 
will  do  as  of  what  a  man  infatuated  with  a  woman 
will  do. 

The  expression  of  chagrin  on  the  chief  inspector's 
face  faded  as  quickly  as  it  had  arisen.  "  Well,  not 
exactly,"  he  said  with  nonchalance.  "  He  didn't  do 
quite  what  I  wanted  him  to.  Still,  never  mind.  Here's 
something  else  I  wanted  to  ask  you."  He  pulled  a 
photograph  from  his  pocket — the  inevitable  official 
full  and  side  face.  "  Do  you  recognize  this  man?  " 

Cincinnati  surveyed  the  photograph.  "  Sure,"  he 
answered.  "  That's  '  Dago  Sam '  that  I  told  you 
about — he's  in  Ling's  lot." 

"  Thanks."  The  detective  put  the  photograph  back 
in  his  pocket.  "  I  won't  worry  you  any  more  now.  I'll 
leave  you  to  look  after  things  here  a  bit,  Royal.  I've 
got  several  things  I  want  to  do  and  I  mean  to  have  a 
night's  rest  for  once." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  his  intentions  it  was  well  after  mid- 
night before  he  sought  the  repose  afforded  by  Magers- 
fontein  Road,  Upper  Tooting.  His  way  lay  first  to 
the  residence  of  a  well-known  coroner  who  lived  in  so 
inaccessible  a  portion  of  North  London  that  even  a  taxi 

[159] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


driver  had  difficulty  in  locating  his  residence.  Mr. 
Fynne-Racton  was  a  white  haired,  ruddy  cheeked,  little 
man  whose  calling  in  no  way  corresponded  with  his  ap- 
pearance. Although  his  name  was  well  known  to 
the  general  public  his  chief  capacities  were  known 
most  fully  in  a  more  select  circle — the  Microscopical 
Society. 

He  peered  over  his  spectacles  at  the  tiny  fragment  of 
cloth  and  the  single  thread  which  Weir  Menzies  took 
from  an  envelope.  "  Certainly,  certainly,  Mr.  Menzies,'* 
he  said.  "  I'll  do  my  best  and  let  you  know.  I  wish 
you'd  have  come  to  me  earlier.  Of  course  I  can  guess 
that  these  things  are  concerned  in  the  case  we're  all 
talking  about.  I  won't  ask  questions,  though — eh?  " 

"  I  might  want  you  as  an  expert  witness,"  explained 
the  detective. 

"  And  I  might  be  asked  if  you  gave  me  any  sugges- 
tion," said  Fynne-Racton.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  understand. 
I'll  do  my  best,  Mr.  Menzies.  I  hope  it  will  be  satis- 
factory. Good-night,  good-night." 

Menzies  spent  half  an  hour  and  a  little  longer  at 
Scotland  Yard  and  so  home  to  bed  and  slumbers  that 
did  credit  to  his  nerves.  At  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing one  result  of  his  labours  stared  him  in  the  face  as 
he  opened  his  favourite  morning  paper.  A  double 
column  portrait  of  "  William  Smith  "  appeared  on  the 
splash  page  and  big  letters  in  the  heading  propounded 
the  query: 

[160] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"DO  YOU  KNOW  THIS  MAN?    IF  SO,  TELL 
THE  POLICE. 

"  The  above  is  a  photograph  of  the  mysterious 
prisoner  now  under  arrest  for  a  murderous  attempt 
on  the  life  of  Mr.  James  Hallett,  who,  it  will  be 
remembered,  is  one  of  the  chief  witnesses  in  the  case 
of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Greye-Stratton.  He  refuses 
to  give  any  account  of  himself  and  the  police  are 
anxious  to  trace  his  antecedents  so  that  the  full 
facts,  whether  for  or  against  him,  may  be  brought 
out  when  he  is  tried." 

Menzies  could  be  disingenuous  when  he  liked. 
Though  even  the  omniscient  reporter  did  not  know  it,  he 
had  no  longer  much  doubt  on  the  subject  of  William 
Smith,  or  "  Dago  Sam,"  as  he  preferred  to  think  of 
him.  The  hint  given  by  the  "  con  "  man,  even  if  later 
questions  failed  to  amplify  it,  would  probably  prove 
sufficient  to  dig  out  all  the  personal  history  that  was 
wanted.  Nevertheless  there  was  no  reason  for  allowing 
either  Gwennie  Lyne  or  Ling  to  know  how  much  he 
knew  of  their  confederate.  The  apparently  earnest 
search  by  newspaper  might  help  to  blind  them  as  to 
how  far  the  investigation  had  progressed. 

He  threw  the  paper  aside  and  accompanied  by  Bruin 
walked  reflectively  round  the  garden  with  a  sharp  eye 

[161] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


for  caterpillars.  Ten  minutes  before  his  usual  time,  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  flicked  away  an  imaginary  spot 
of  dust  from  his  boots,  kissed  his  wife,  and  caught  the 
city-bound  car. 


[162] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HALLETT  had  not  stopped  to  consider  any  complica- 
tions that  might  arise  when  he  had  rushed  Peggy 
Greye-Stratton  from  the  restaurant.  Even  had  he  done 
so,  his  action  would  have  been  the  same.  In  a  flash  he 
had  realised  how  the  black  cloud  of  suspicion  already 
formed  against  her  by  Menzies  would  be  increased 
should  she  be  found  in  amicable  association  with  Ling. 
Even  he  himself  held  doubts, — doubts  which  no  reason- 
ing could  have  stifled  but  which  he  ignored  until  there 
should  be  more  time  to  resolve  them. 

She  obeyed  him  without  question.  He  hustled  her  into 
a  taxi-cab  and  gave  an  order  to  the  driver.  He  sat 
by  her  side,  his  heart  pumping  hard.  Outwardly, 
though,  he  showed  little  indication  of  emotion.  "  A 
close  thing  that,"  he  commented  coolly. 

She  was  trembling  violently.  Her  face  was  half 
turned  towards  him.  "  You  said  the  police — the  de- 
tectives were  there;  why?  What  are  they  going  to  do? 
How  do  they  know?"  A  soft  gloved  hand  lay  on  his 
knee  where  she  had  placed  it  unconsciously  in  her 
eagerness.  He  noticed  that  it  was  trembling.  "  I  am 
quite  calm,"  she  insisted,  although  her  bearing  gave 
the  lie  to  her  words.  "  You  must  tell  me." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  spoke  gently,  though  his  heart 
was  aflame,  "  that  your  friend  will  be  arrested." 
[163] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  Oh  !  "  She  dropped  back  against  the  soft  cushions, 
her  fists  clenched,  her  face  as  hard  as  stone.  Then 
suddenly  she  awoke  to  fierce  life.  "  They  mustn't.  I 
must  go  back,  Mr.  Hallett.  Stop  the  cab.  Why  didn't 
I  think  at  first.  I  must  warn  him.  Let  me  alone.  If 
you  are  a  gentleman  you  will  do  as  I  say." 

She  was  striving  to  open  the  door  and  he  had  to  use 
force  to  pull  her  back  to  her  seat.  "  Sit  still,"  he  said. 
"  You  can  do  no  good  now.  It  is  too  late.  You  have 
got  to  think  of  yourself.  If  you  go  back  you  will  be 
arrested.  Will  that  improve  matters  ?  " 

A  fit  of  shivering  shook  her  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  Jimmie  watched  her  sombrely.  To 
him  there  was  only  one  explanation  of  her  agitation — 
fear  for  the  man  who  was  her  husband.  In  a  little  while 
the  fit  passed. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  she  said  colourlessly. 
"  But " — her  voice  grew  tense  again — "  you  don't 
know  what  it  means  to  me.  You  can't  know." 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  I  can 
guess.  We  will  talk  over  all  that  later.  Nothing  can 
be  done  until  you  are  more  yourself.  If — if "  — he 
suddenly  became  diffident — "  if  money  can  do  anything 
to  save  him  you  must  call  on  me.  A  loan,  you  know," 
he  ended  tamely. 

He  saw  the  blue  eyes  fixed  keenly  on  him  with  a 
curious  expression  that  was  hard  to  analyse.  "  You 
think  that  that  man  Ling — is  a  murderer — that  I  want 

[164] 


to  save  him,"  she  said  breathlessly.  And  then,  without 
warning,  she  broke  into  laughter — laughter  that  was 
akin  to  hysterics. 

It  was  then  that  Jimmie  Hallett  did  a  thing  which 
in  the  ordinary  way  he  would  have  deemed  impossible. 
He  stood  up,  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  shook  her 
roughly. 

"  Stop  that.  Stop  it  at  once,"  he  commanded 
harshly. 

He  had  never  had  occasion  to  deal  with  a  woman  in 
hysterics  before  and  the  treatment  was  instinctive.  He 
was  relieved  to  find  it  effective.  The  girl  quieted  after 
one  or  two  convulsive  sobs.  "  I'm — sorry,"  she  gasped. 
"  I  am  better  now.  Where  are  we  going?  " 

"  I  told  the  man  to  drive  to  the  Monument.  I  didn't 
know  where  you  might  like  to  go  and  the  important 
thing  was  to  get  away.  One  moment."  He  pushed  his 
head  out  of  the  window.  "  Which  is  the  nearest  main- 
line depot  to  the  Monument  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  man  slowed  up  to  answer  the  question.  "  Depot, 
sir?  "  he  repeated,  puzzled.  "  Oh,  you  mean  station. 
You'll  want  London  Bridge." 

"  That  will  do."  He  dropped  back  to  his  seat.  "  It 
will  be  safer  if  we  go  a  little  way  up  the  line  and  then 
return,"  he  exclaimed.  "  They  might  try  to  trace  you 
through  the  cabman." 

She  made  a  weary  gesture  of  assent,  and  the  rest  of 
the  journey  was  accomplished  in  silence.  A  few  rapid 
1165] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


enquiries  established  that  a  train  was  about  to  start 
for  Sevenoaks,  and  chancing  the  possibility  of  a  return 
connection,  Jimmie  took  two  first-class  singles.  His 
suggestion  of  a  train  journey  was  not  entirely  prompted 
by  the  wish  to  blind  the  trail.  That  would  have  been 
as  satisfactorily  achieved  merely  by  entering  a  station. 
He  wanted  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  mystery  sur- 
rounding the  girl,  and  though  he  was  no  admirer  of  the 
compartment  system  of  British  railways,  he  recognised 
the  advantages  that  an  empty  compartment  would  af- 
ford for  a  confidential  interview. 

The  girl  had  rapidly  regained  her  self-possession  and 
her  abstraction  vanished  as  the  train  started.  She 
flashed  a  half  smile  on  him.  "  You  will  think 
me  very  foolish  to  have  given  way  like  this,  Mr. 
Hallett.  It's  been  good  of  you  to  take  such  trouble 
to  serve  a  comparative  stranger.  I  can't  thank  you 
properly." 

"  There's  nothing  to  thank  me  for.  I  acted  from 
purely  selfish  motives.  I  wanted  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity — you  remember  I  have  only  half  your 
story." 

She  met  his  eyes  steadily.  There  was  still  only  the 
faintest  touch  of  colour  in  her  cheeks.  She  had  taken 
off  her  gloves  and  was  mechanically  twisting  them  in 
her  lap.  He  leaned  forward  and  possessed  himself  of 
one  of  her  hands.  She  tore  it  sharply  away  and  a  gush 
of  crimson  swept  over  her  face. 
[166] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  You  mustn't  do  that,"  she  said  hastily. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  muttered.  "  I  forgot. 
You  are  married." 

The  crimson  in  her  cheeks  deepened  and  she  took  a 
long  breath.  Her  blue  eyes  took  on  a  new  alertness. 
He  had  half  expected,  half  hoped  that  she  would  deny 
it.  Even  the  marriage  certificate  had  not  convinced 
him  entirely,  and  her  being  with  Ling  that  night  had 
scarcely  affected  his  hope.  Yet  he  was  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  acuteness  and  common  sense.  He  was 
ready  to  believe  that  there  had  been  some  incredible 
mistake. 

"  I  am  married,"  she  repeated.  "  And  you  know. 
How  did  you  learn  ?  "  He  could  hear  her  breath  catch 
as  she  waited  for  his  reply. 

"  I  have  seen  the  marriage  certificate,"  he  answered 
simply. 

"  And  the  police,"  her  words  came  incisively,  "  they 
know?" 

He  nodded.    "  It  was  through  them  I  learnt." 

A  revulsion  of  feeling  was  coming  to  him.  Somehow 
her  fresh  manner  had  broken  the  spell.  There  was 
something  of  calculation  about  it — of  the  fencer  stand- 
ing with  weapon  poised  for  offence  or  defence.  Hith- 
ertofore  he  had  viewed  her  through  a  mist — content  to 
accept  what  she  had  told  him  as  the  truth,  and  with  faith 
that  the  inexplicable  things  would  in  time  be  made 
clear  and  her  innocence  apparent.  He  had  brushed 

[167] 


aside  the  suspicions  of  Menzies  as  the  natural  tendency 
of  the  police  officer  to  put  the  worst  construction  on 
everything. 

Now  he  began  to  wonder  if  after  all  Menzies  had 
been  right.  Was  she  merely  a  cunning  adventuress 
who  had  all  along  deluded  him  and  laughed  at  his  folly 
behind  his  back  with  her  criminal  confederates.  Look- 
ing at  it  coolly,  he  told  himself,  he  could  see  a  score 
of  reasons  why  it  should  be  so.  A  couple  of  deep  lines 
bit  into  his  forehead.  He  had  helped  her  escape  and 
her  first  words  had  shown  her  solicitude  for  Ling. 
Afterwards  she  had  tried  to  dismiss  the  impression  she 
had  created  or  erected  by  an  assumption  of  the  mys- 
terious. Quite  possibly  her  whole  intention  since  they 
met  in  the  police  station  had  been  to  use  him  as  a 
stalking-horse. 

He  had  been  gazing  unseeingly  straight  in  front  of 
him.  A  light  touch  recalled  his  wandering  thoughts. 
"  What  are  the  police  doing?  "  she  asked.  "  You  have 
not  told  me  how  they  knew  that  Ling  and  I  would  be 
there." 

His  face  hardened.  She  was  taking  it  for  granted 
that  she  could  pump  him.  "  That  is  their  secret,"  he 
answered  bluntly,  "  as  much  theirs  as  your  secrets  are 
yours." 

"  I — I'm  sorry,"  she  stammered  timidly.  "  You 
think  I  am  taking  advantage." 

"  I  think,  miss  " — he  corrected  himself — "  Mrs. 
[168] 


Ling,  that  there  are  several  matters  you  should  answer 
yourself  before  putting  questions  to  me." 

She  winced  at  the  stress  he  laid  on  the  name  and 
drew  herself  together.  "  I  am  to  suppose  that  you  dis- 
trust me,"  she  said  haughtily. 

"  That's  a  quaint  way  of  putting  it.  Exactly  what 
reason  is  there  that  I  should  trust  you?"  He  spoke 
brutally.  He  felt  the  occasion  was  not  one  for  delicacy 
of  language.  "  You  have  told  me  a  story  that  I  then 
believed  to  be  true — a  story  of  devotion  to  a  scalywag 
brother.  You  said  nothing  about  a  greater  motive  for 
loyalty  to  your  gang — your  marriage  to  one  of  the 
most  notorious  criminals  in  the  world.  I  shall  see 
something  to  laugh  at  in  the  way  I've  been  strung — 
sometime." 

Her  lips  were  parted  and  her  breast  was  heaving. 
Undeniably  pretty  she  was  with  her  flushed  face  and 
her  eyes  lighted  till  they  looked  like  blue  flame.  There 
was  neither  shame  nor  contrition  within  their  depths. 
"  Why  did  you  help  me  to-night,  then?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because "  He  wavered.  "  Oh,  because  I  was 

a  fool,  I  suppose.  I  thought  there  might  be  some  ex- 
planation. I  see  now  " — he  made  a  gesture  with  his 
hand — "  there  can't  be.  You  vanished  as  soon  as  Scot- 
land Yard  got  a  hot  scent.  You  were  afraid  I  might 
get  dangerous  and  you  played  on  me  with  a  note  to 
get  me  into  the  hands  of  your  pals.  I  fell  for  it  all 
right,  all  right." 

[169] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


She  stared  at  him  dumbly.  "  You  got  my  note, 
then  ?  "  she  said  after  a  pause. 

He  laughed  shortly.  "  Yes,  I  got  it  all  right.  No 
mistake  about  that.  And  Gwennie  Lyne  got  me." 

She  was  leaning  forward  with  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  troubled  thought  in  her  face.  "  Gwennie  Lyne? 
But  you  never  came.  And  I  don't  know  Gwennie  Lyne. 
i.  .  .  What  address  did  you  go  to?  " 

"  The  address  you  gave — 1-40  Ludford  Road,  Brix- 
ton." 

"  That  wasn't  it."  She  passed  her  hand  over  her 
brow.  "  There's  been  some  trickery  I  don't  under- 
stand. It  was  quite  another  place.  I  wanted  a  friend. 
.  .  .  You  didn't  come.  ...  I  thought — oh,  I  didn't 
blame  you-  There  was  no  reason  why  you  should  run 
any  risks  to  help  me.  ..." 

He  watched  her  with  obvious  disbelief. 

"  You  think  I'm  lying,"  she  said  with  another  change 
of  manner.  "  Very  well.  You  shall  see  and  learn  for 
yourself.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  lying — 
that  I  have  not  tricked  you.  You  can  keep  your  own 
counsel.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not  betray  mine." 

"  You  may  rely  on  me,"  he  said  icily. 

The  train  ran  into  Sevenoaks  and  they  alighted. 
There  was  a  return  train  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
and  this  they  caught.  Both  were  grimly  silent  on  the 
return  journey  and  for  the  most  part  JimmJe  kept  his 
eyes  resolutely  fixed  on  the  blank  blackness  of  the  win- 

[170] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


dow.  Once  he  surprised  her  watching  him  with  an  air 
of  wistfulness.  "  A  consummate  actress,"  he  thought 
and  shifted  his  gaze  again  to  the  window.  To  question 
her  would  be  only  to  invite  another  series  of  lies. 

At  London  Bridge  she  took  command,  piloting  him 
to  the  Bank  and  stopping  a  motor  bus  with  an  im- 
perative wave  of  the  hand.  They  ran  through  into  the 
gloomy  heart  of  the  East  End.  "  This  is  Shadwell," 
she  said.  "  We  get  off  here." 

It  was  hard  to  reconcile  the  dainty  figure  in  the  neat 
grey  costume  with  the  slums  and  squalor  into  which 
they  entered.  Through  narrow,  desolate  streets  she  led 
him,  past  here  and  there  a  drunken  man  or  a  riotous 
group  racing  from  one  public-house  to  another.  At 
last  she  paused  and  tapped  with  her  bare  knuckles  on 
the  unpainted  door  of  a  tumble-down  house.  He  was 
not  without  courage,  but  he  hesitated. 

"  Are  you  going  in  there?  " 

"  Yes.    Are  you  afraid  ?  "  she  taunted. 

"  I  am,"  he  admitted.    "  I  may  tell  you  I  am  armed." 

Her  lips  curled.  He  got  a  vague  glimpse  of  a  slat- 
ternly old  woman  with  curious  eyes  staring  at  them, 
and  then  the  girl,  without  stopping  to  see  whether  he 
would  follow,  led  the  way  within.  He  followed,  men- 
tally calling  himself  a  fool.  The  old  woman  closed  the 
door  and  they  were  left  in  darkness. 

"  Take  my  hand,"  she  said,  "  I  know  the  way.  The 
fourth  stair  up  is  broken." 

[171] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


The  hand  he  groped  for  and  found  was  ice  cold.  He 
dragged  his  pistol  out  of  his  pocket  and  held  it  ready 
for  instant  use.  There  was  going  to  be  no  repetition 
of  the  Gwennie  Lyne  trick  if  he  could  help  it.  At  the 
first  sign  of  treachery  he  was  determined  to  shoot. 
He  heard  the  creak  of  a  door  on  rusty  hinges  as  she 
pushed  it  back  and  released  his  hand  from  hers  with 
a  sudden  jerk. 

A  thin  light  filtered  out  and  he  beheld  a  wretchedly 
furnished  room  with  something  lying  on  a  mattress  in 
the  farther  corner.  He  advanced  cautiously,  weapon 
ready.  She  pushed  the  door  to  and  his  pistol  dropped 
as  he  saw  the  haggard,  unshaven  face  of  the  sleeping 
man  on  the  mattress.  A  man  who  turned  restlessly  at 
their  entrance. 

She  pointed  to  the  corner.  "  There  you  are,  Mr. 
Hallett.  That's  my  brother,  James  Errol.  You  have 
his  life  in  your  hands  if  you  want  to  fetch  the  police." 


[1721 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SHE  faced  him  by  the  thin  light  of  the  cheap  oil  lamp, 
her  head  defiantly  tilted.  He  remained  dumb,  the  pistol 
dangling  by  his  side  till  he  became  conscious  of  the  in- 
congruity and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket.  The  sudden 
spectacle  of  the  sick  man  lying  there  in  that  miserable 
hovel  had  shorn  him  for  the  moment  of  the  power  of 
consecutive  thought. 

She  lifted  the  lamp  to  examine  the  sleeping  man  and, 
replacing  it  on  the  table,  readjusted  a  pillow  with  ten- 
der fingers.  She  rose  and  pushed  forward  a  rickety 
chair.  He  complied  with  the  unspoken  invitation. 

"  He  is  a  fugitive  from  justice."  She  spoke  softly 
lest  the  sleeper  be  disturbed.  "  Whatever  he  is,  scoun- 
drel though  you  think  him,  can  I  do  less?  But  for  me 
he  would  have  been  helpless.  Would  you  have  me 
desert  him  ?  Do  you  think  " — she  made  a  gesture  of 
disgust — "  that  I  like  living  in  this  place — these  two 
sordid  rooms  which  are  the  only  place  in  London  I 
could  hide  him  in?  Why,  I  daren't  even  have  a  doctor 
for  fear  of  betrayal.  And  you  thought  that  I  was  in 
league  with  the  people  who  brought  him  to  this.  Well 
I  am  in  league.  They  know  where  he  is  and  a  single 
word  would  bring  the  police  down  here." 

The  fire  in  her  low  tone  challenged  him  to  still  con- 
demn her.  Once  before  he  had  reasoned  out  a  theory 

[173] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


of  her  attitude — a  theory  that  had  partly  been  broken 
down  by  the  open  scepticism  of  Menzies  until  the  cul- 
minating point  had  been  reached  when  he  found  her 
dining  with  Ling.  At  first  the  apparent  significance  of 
that  had  been  lost,  but  it  had  been  borne  upon  him  with 
ever-increasing  force  that  it  was  evidence  that  the  letter 
luring  him  to  Gwennie  Lyne's  house  was  no  forgery  but 
deliberately  written  by  her.  Now  again  he  had  to  go 
back  to  the  old  line  of  reasoning.  He  wondered  that 
he  had  permitted  anything  to  throw  him  off  it.  Why, 
it  was  plain  to  the  most  dense  intellect.  Who  so  likely 
to  pay  off  the  old  score  of  hatred  of  his  father  by  a 
bullet  than  this  mean,  reckless  waster,  Errol. 

"  It  was  he — who  killed  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  ?  "  he 
whispered  hoarsely. 

Her  reply  was  inaudible.  But  the  drawn  face,  the 
twitching  hands  left  it  in  no  doubt. 

Without  warning  the  man  on  the  pallet  raised  him- 
self on  one  elbow,  his  features  ghastly  in  the  dim  light. 

"  Who  says  I  killed  him  ?  "  he  gasped  in  a  cracked 
voice.  "  It's  a  lie — a  lie,  I  tell  you.  Who's  that  you've 
got  there,  Peggy?  Damn  this  light.  I  can't  see.  Tell 
him  it's  a  lie — an  infernal  lie.  I  never  laid  a  finger  on 
the  old  man — old  man — old  man — old  devil !  "  He 
gasped  out  the  last  word  with  shrill  vindictiveness  and 
fell  back  breathless. 

She  hurriedly  lifted  a  small  bottle  from  the  mantel- 
piece, poured  a  little  of  the  contents  into  a  glass,  and 

[174] 


supported  her  brother's  head  while  he  drank,  talking 
soothingly  to  him  the  while.  In  a  little  while  his  regular 
breathing  told  that  he  was  asleep. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  now,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  brought  you  here — 
why  it  should  matter  to  me  what  you  think.  You  have 
seen  and  you  are  at  liberty  to  believe  what  you  like." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  nonsense,"  he  said  briskly.  "  I 
begin  to  see  that  I  have  acted  like  a  blackguard,  but 
I  can't  leave  you  like  this."  He  rose,  crossed  over  to 
her,  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  You  have 
trusted  me  with  the  most  important  thing.  Now  you 
must  trust  me  fully.  You  need  a  friend  and  whether 
you  like  it  or  not  I  am  going  to  see  this  through. 
Where's  the  other  room  you  spoke  of?  Let's  go  in 
there  and  talk." 

With  a  glance  at  her  brother  she  lit  a  candle  and 
led  him  to  the  adjoining  room,  as  poorly  furnished  as 
the  other.  "  I  can't  offer  you  even  a  cup  of  tea,  Mr. 
Hallett,"  she  said  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  cheerful- 
ness. "  There  is  no  gas  and  the  fires  are  out." 

"  I  don't  mind  defects  in  hospitality,"  he  said. 
"  They  can  be  remedied  some  other  time.  Now  tell 
me  how  it  all  came  about  and  we'll  see  what's  to  be 
done." 

She  paused  as  though  to  put  her  thoughts  into  form. 
"  You  wondered  why  I  never  told  you  I  was  married," 
she  said  wearily.  "  It  is  true,  all  that  you  know.  I 
[175] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


am  married  to  that  man  " — a  shudder  swept  her  slim 
frame — "  Ling.  If  there  is  any  living  thing  that  I  de- 
test, hate,  and  despise  it  is  he.  I  want  you  to  believe  it, 
Mr.  Hallett,  when  I  say  that  I  am  his  wife  only  in 
name.  Never !  Never !  "  he  could  see  her  face  glow 
with  her  vehemence  in  the  candle  light — "  shall  I  be 
anything  more.  He  was  a  friend  of  my  brother's — he 
had  a  hold  on  him,  and  to  save  him  I  consented  to  a 
marriage.  It  was  a  marriage  of  form  and  we  separated 
at  the  registry  office.  Not  even  for  my  brother  could  I 
do  more." 

"  This  was  before  the  death  of  your  father?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  it  was  Ling  who  knew  he  had  committed 
forgery?  It  was  he  who  held  the  threat  of  expos- 
ure over  your  head.  The  price  you  paid  was — mar- 
riage ?  " 

"  That  was  part  of  the  price.  I  thought  it  would 
silence  him  to  have  me  bear  the  same  name  as  himself. 
It  was  he  who  came  to  my  flat  the  night  of  the  murder 
with  the  forged  cheques  in  his  hand  and  demanded  the 
full  price  of  his  silence — that  I  should  take  my  place 
as  his  wife." 

Jimmie  bit  his  lip.  He  promised  himself  there  should 
be  a  reckoning  if  ever  he  ran  across  Ling  again. 

"  Then  the  murder  took  place.  It  was  not  difficult 
for  me  to  guess  what  had  happened  when  I  read  of  it 
and  I  spent  a  terrible  hour.  I  knew  that  the  detectives 

[176] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


would  soon  learn  enough  to  put  them  on  the  track  and 
that  at  any  moment  they  might  seek  me  out.  So  I  went 
to  them,  partly  because  I  was  anxious  to  see  what  they 
knew,  partly  because  I  knew  suspicion  might  be  aroused 
if  I  seemed  to  avoid  them.  You  know  more  or  less 
what  happened.  Then  I  was  brought  up  for  you  to 
indentify  me  and  I  confess  I  had  an  anxious  few  minutes 
while  you  were  walking  up  and  down  that  line  of  women. 
I  knew  you  had  recognised  me  and  when  you  denied  it 
to  the  officers  I  could — I  could  have  done  anything  for 
you. 

"  I  hadn't  a  single  friend  in  whom  I  could  confide  and 
then  you  appeared.  I  told  you  more — much  more  than 
I  intended  to  and  when  you  urged  me  to  give  the  police 
full  details  I  was  half  tempted  to  comply.  But  it 
seemed  too  great  a  risk  to  take.  If  there  was  any  doubt 

— if  there  had  seemed  any  doubt  about  my  brother. 

How  could  I?  To  have  told  the  police  would  have  been 
to  betray  him. 

"  I  realised  how  desperate  things  were  when  I  knew 
I  was  being  shadowed  and  you  stopped  the  detectives. 
I  hurried  back  to  my  flat  and  outside  in  the  street  I 
met  Ling.  I  had  neither  the  chance  nor  the  desire  to 
avoid  him.  *  I  have  been  running  great  risks  to  see 
you,'  he  said.  '  You  must  come  with  me  at  once.  Your 
brother  is  hurt.' 

"  I  distrusted  him  and  my  suspicion  must  have  shown 
itself.  He  let  me  see  plainly  that  he  knew  the  truth, 

[177] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


and  he  added  that  my  brother  was  lying  injured  at  a 
house  in  the  East  End.  '  He  is  nothing  to  me,'  he 
added.  *  He  can  die  there  like  a  dog  in  a  kennel  or  the 
police  can  patch  him  up  for  another  dog's  death.  There 
is  the  address.'  He  pushed  a  scrap  of  paper  into  my 
hand  and  went  away  without  another  word. 

"  If  he  had  offered  to  accompany  me  I  fear  I  should 
not  have  come.  He  must  have  known  that.  He  was 
astute  enough  to  understand  that  once  I  came  here  he 
could  see  me  whenever  he  wanted.  I  found  my  brother 
as  you  have  seen  him.  He  was  suffering  from  a  knife 
thrust  in  the  ribs  which  he  told  me  was  due  to  an  acci- 
dent. He  was  in  great  pain  and  I  did  not  question  him 
too  much.  Someone  had  bandaged  it  up,  and  the  old 
woman  below — the  landlady  of  this  house — was  watch- 
ing him.  He  had  been  brought  here  by  two  other  men, 
she  said.  She  did  not  know  anything  about  him,  how 
he  had  been  injured  nor  who  the  people  were  who 
brought  him.  They  had  taken  the  two  rooms  and  told 
her  a  lady  would  come  to  look  after  him.  She  wasn't 
one  to  ask  questions  or  to  pry  into  other  folks'  business 
as  long  as  they  paid  their  rent  regularly.  You  know 
the  kind  of  thing.  It  was  then  I  wrote  the  note  to  you 
and  gave  it  to  her  with  some  money  to  have  sent  to 
you." 

"  The  old  Jezebel,"  said  Jimmie.  "  She  must  have 
made  it  over  to  Ling,  or  Gwennie  Lyne,  and  they  had 
the  address  altered." 

[178] 


"  Well,  you  never  came.  I  saw  to  my  brother  as  well 
as  I  could,  draining  on  my  memory  of  some  red  cross 
classes  I  once  attended.  I  think  I  was  near  going  mad 
at  night  with  my  impotence,  and  the  loneliness,  and  the 
thought  of  his  peril.  At  about  nine  o'clock  Ling  came. 
He  entered  the  room  without  knock  or  ceremony  and 
smoking  a  cigar.  He  laughed  when  he  saw  how  terri- 
fied I  was.  '  All  right,'  he  said.  '  I'm  not  going  to  hurt 
a  hair  of  your  head.  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me, 
young  lady,  for  all  the  trouble  I've  been  taking.  Still 
it's  a  family  affair  and  I  couldn't  do  less,  could  I?  '  He 
grinned  at  me  hatefully  and  I  don't  know  what  I  an-1 
swered.  '  You're  a  little  bit  off  colour  to-night,'  he 
went  on.  *  I  don't  wonder.  You  haven't  been  used 
to  this  sort  of  thing.  It  would  be  wise  to  be  civil, 
though.' 

"  He  left  me  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  his 
hint  and  I  constrained  myself  to  a  formal  politeness. 
*  I'll  not  worry  you  any  further  to-night,'  he  said,  *  but 
we've  got  to  look  our  positions  in  the  face.  Now  by 
to-morrow  you'll  probably  be  glad  of  a  change.  I'll 
come  for  you  at  seven  o'clock  and  we'll  go  and  have  a 
dinner  somewhere  and  talk  things  out  sensibly.  Mrs. 
Buttle  here  will  look  after  your  brother  for  an  hour  or 
two.' 

"  I  was  in  his  power,  and  of  course  there  was  no 
question  of  refusing.  I  had  to  make  every  sacrifice  but 
the  last  one.  To-night  he  called  and  we  went  to  the 

[179] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


place  where  you  met  us.  I  don't  know  how  long  we 
had  been  there,  but  we  had  practically  finished  dinner. 
He  would  talk  of  nothing  but  indifferent  subjects,  but 
there  was  something  on  his  mind  I  felt  sure.  '  Pleasure 
first,'  he  said  when  I  tried  to  pin  him  down.  *  We'll  leave 
business  till  we  have  eaten.' 

"  Then  when  you  came  in  I  was  bewildered.  You 
rushed  me  off  my  feet,  and  not  till  we  were  in  the  cab 
did  I  realise  what  the  arrest  of  Ling  would  mean.  He 
wouldn't  hesitate  for  a  moment  to  betray  my  brother 
if  he  learned  he  is  himself  suspected.  If  Mr.  Menzies 
has  arrested  Ling  he  will  probably  know  all  by  this 
time."  She  glanced  apprehensively  towards  the  door,  as 
though  she  feared  the  immediate  entrance  of  the  police. 
"  Now  I  have  told  you  everything,  Mr.  Hallett.  Can 
I  ask  you  now  what — what " 

He  understood  her  hesitation  to  frame  the  question 
as  he  understood  now  her  eagerness  to  extract  informa- 
tion from  him  in  the  train.  But  there  was  still  some- 
thing inexplicable  on  the  face  of  her  story.  No  reason, 
no  motive  other  than  that  of  a  sort  of  blackmail  had 
been  given  for  Ling's  actions.  The  personality  of  Ling 
as  he  understood  it  was  entirely  alien  to  any  unselfish 
action.  So  far  as  her  story  had  gone  the  man  had  com- 
mitted no  crime — no  legal  crime — that  would  bring  him 
within  the  law.  Why  then  the  attempt  on  his  life  by 
William  Smith,  why  the  attempt  to  make  him  a  prisoner 

[180] 


by  Gwennie  Lyne,  why  the  apparent  importance  which 
Menzies  attached  to  the  arrest  of  Ling? 

He  explained  what  had  happened  so  far  as  he  knew 
it,  and  little  puzzled  wrinkles  appeared  in  her  white 
forehead.  "  Now  Ling  isn't  an  altruist,"  he  ended, 
"  any  more  than  Menzies  is  a  fool.  The  gang  has  not 
been  butting  into  this  game  merely  to  save  your 
brother.  And  Menzies  isn't  red  hot  after  them  for  no 
reason  at  all.  If  the  case  were  as  you  think  it  would 
be  simple  enough.  The  hue  and  cry  would  be  all  after 
him."  He  made  a  motion  of  his  hand  towards  the  other 
room. 

"Ah!"  She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully  and  then 
walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  narrow  confines  of 
the  apartment.  "  It's  no  good,"  she  exclaimed  at 
last. 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,  but  it's  all  too  complex  for  me. 
Even  if  someone  else  is  bound  up  with  this  crime,  my 
brother's  danger  remains  the  same.  That  is  all  that  con- 
cerns me." 

Hallett  found  something  to  admire  in  the  singleness 
of  purpose  that  actuated  the  girl,  even  though  it  was 
to  shield  a  man  who  was  certainly  a  scoundrel  and,  in 
all  probability,  a  murderer.  "  There  is  yourself  to  be 
considered,"  he  remonstrated.  "  You  are  in  deep 
waters." 

"  I  shall  find  a  way  out."  Her  tone  belied  the  con- 
fidence of  her  words. 

[181] 


He  scratched  his  chin,  "  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to 
get  your  brother  away  from  here — somewhere  where 
these  crooks  cannot  get  at  him." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  out  of  the  question. 
It  might  kill  him  to  be  moved.  Besides,  there  is  Mrs. 
Buttle.  She  would  tell  Ling  and  he  would  find  me  some- 
how." 

"  Then  there  is  only  one  other  thing.  This  is  no 
place  for  you.  You  had  better  get  decent  lodgings 
somewhere  and  I  will  stay  here.  You  can  rely  I  will 
do  everything  possible  for  your  brother." 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  quite  out  of  the 
question,  though  I  am  grateful  for  the  offer.  The  only 
chance  of  safety  is  for  me  to  remain  here." 

He  lost  patience.  "  Hang  it  all,"  he  cried.  "  You 
can't.  This  house — this  neighbourhood — why  how  can 
a  child  like  you  stay  here  alone?  If  you  won't  allow 
me  to  take  your  place  I  must  get  rooms  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Hallett,"  she  said, 
"  but  you  will  see  it  is  impossible.  Anything  you  did 
would  only  attract  attention  to  the  house.  You  can 
see  that.  I  promise  you,  if  you  like,  that  should  ever  I 
need  you  I  will  send  for  you.  It  will  be  a  comfort  to 
know  that  I  have  at  least  one  honest  friend  on  whom 
I  can  rely." 

He  was  still  uncertain.  "  I  don't  like  it,"  he  grum- 
bled. "  Anything  might  happen  suddenly.  It  would 

[182] 


take  an  hour  to  fetch  me  even  if  you  had  a  reliable  mes- 
senger." Then,  as  she  showed  no  signs  of  relenting, 
"  Very  well,  it  shall  be  as  you  say.  Here  " — he  took  his 
automatic  from  his  pocket  and  passed  it  to  her — "  you 
might  feel  safer  if  you  have  this.  Do  you  understand 
how  it  works  ?  " 

He  explained  the  mechanism  to  her.  She  held  the 
weapon  rigidly  at  arm's  length.  "Like  this?"  she 
asked. 

"  Great  Jehosophat,  no !  That  is  how  they  do  it  on 
the  stage.  Take  your  finger  off  the  trigger.  Never 
put  it  there  till  you  mean  it  to  go  off.  And  use  the 
second  finger,  not  the  first.  Point  your  first  finger  along 
the  barrel.  If  you  haven't  time  to  take  aim,  all  you 
nave  got  to  do  is  to  point  your  finger  and  you  will  hit 
whatever  you  are  pointing  at.  Hold  your  arm  more 
loosely.  That's  the  idea.  Now  put  it  away.  I  feel 
better  to  think  you've  got  it." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Thank  you.  And 
now  good-night,  Mr.  Hallett.  I  will  write  you — some- 
time." 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it.  "  Do  you  know  that 
I  was  just  going  without  asking  you  the  name  of  this 
place?  I  might  have  something  to  tell  you,  you 
know." 

She  released  herself  with  some  confusion.  "  I  will 
write  it  down."  She  scribbled  for  a  second  and  then 
passed  him  the  address. 

[183] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  A  very  interesting  picture,"  sneered  a  voice.  "  Mr. 
Hallett,  I  presume — or  Mr.  Green,  from  Mobile?  " 

The  girl  gasped.  Red-eyed  and  flushed,  with  a  rent 
in  his  jacket,  Ling  was  regarding  them  from  the 
doorway. 


[184] 


CHAPTER  XX 

HALLETT'S  fists  clenched.  He  was  poised  for  a  rush 
when  restraining  fingers  on  his  sleeve  recalled  to  him 
that  he  had  not  only  himself  to  consider.  There  might 
be  a  satisfaction  in  thrashing  Ling,  but  it  would  be  too 
dearly  paid  for.  Moreover,  for  all  they  knew,  he  might 
not  be  alone.  He  was  leaning  against  the  doorpost  with 
one  hand  in  his  jacket  pocket.  There  was  a  cigar  be- 
tween his  teeth  and  his  lower  jaw  jutted  out.  His  green 
eyes,  alert  and  menacing,  took  in  the  little  by-play  that 
restrained  Jimmie.  He  had  evidently  expected  and  been 
prepared  for  violence. 

Jimmie  dropped  his  hands  with  a  boyish  laugh.  "  My 
name's  Hallett,"  he  said.  "  We  have  met  before.  Mr. 
Ling,  isn't  it?  This  is  rather  unexpected.  I  thought 
some  friends  of  yours  had  arranged  an  invitation  for 
you?  " 

Ling  grinned.  "  They  sure  did,  sonny  boy.  They 
held  four  aces  but  I  scooped  the  pot  with  a  straight 
flush.  I  wondered  what  your  little  game  was.  Now  I 
know."  He  continued  to  inflect  a  meaning  into  his 
words  that  made  the  blood  surge  in  Jimmie's  veins.  "  I 
thought  you'd  be  the  kind  of  fool  that'd  come  right  on 
here.  You  see,  Peggy  was  hardly  likely  to  desert  her 
darling  brother  and  you  wouldn't  leave  her,  eh?  How's 
that  for  Sherlock  Holmes  ?  It  won't  do,  though,  it  won't 

[  185  ] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


do.  I'll  have  to  be  seeing  a  lawyer  about  this.  Lucky 
I'm  an  indulgent  husband,  eh,  Peggy  ? "  His  voice 
changed.  "  You  stand  right  where  you  are,  Hallett.  It 
won't  be  healthy  for  you  if  you  take  another  step  like 
that.  I  hate  violence — especially  before  ladies." 

The  other  man  remained  stock-still.  He  knew  what 
the  hand  in  Ling's  pocket  was  gripping.  His  mind  was 
actively  seeking  for  a  solution  of  the  immediate  problem. 
Ling  held  the  doorway,  the  only  exit  from  the  room, 
and  he  recognised  perfectly  well  that  this  man,  whose 
friends  had  twice  before  made  attempts  to  secure  his 
silence,  was  little  likely  to  let  him  go  again.  If  he  had 
not  made  over  the  gun  to  Peggy  he  could  have  felt  on 
more  level  terms. 

"  Sherlock  Holmes  would  have  carried  it  a  bit  fur- 
ther," he  said.  "  Has  it  flashed  across  that  limpid  intel- 
lect of  yours  that  I'd  take  care  not  to  put  my  head  into 
the  lion's  jaws  if  I'd  not  taken  precautions  to  keep 
them  propped  open.  If  this  place  isn't  surrounded  now 
it  will  be  in  five  minutes.  Those  friends  you  missed 
won't  be  put  off  a  second  time." 

Ling  started.  Then  his  features  relaxed  and  he 
laughed. 

"  Good  bluff,"  he  said.  "  You  nearly  had  me  stam- 
peded that  time.  But  it's  no  go.  You've  sent  out  no 
message  since  you  came  in  and  if  you'd  given  it  before 
the  splits  would  have  been  here  by  now."  He  spat  on  the 
boarded  floor.  "  Say,  Mr.  Hallett,"  he  went  on  with 

[186] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


the  air  of  a  man  laying  down  a  tentative  business  pro- 
posal. "  I've  got  you  now  cold.  Suppose  we  come  to 
terms.  I'm  willing  to  overlook  the  compromising  cir- 
cumstances of  your  little  jaunt  with  my  wife  to- 
night  " 

"  That's  enough,"  ordered  Hallett  coldly.  "  If  you 
insult  this  lady  again,  gun  or  no  gun  I'll  smash  your 
lying  tongue  down  your  throat." 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  The  green  eyes  gleamed  amusedly  on 
the  young  man.  "  I  must  be  careful.  I  didn't  mean 
to  get  your  goat.  We'll  call  it  off  then.  What  I'm 
aiming  at  is  this.  There's  no  sense  in  making  things- 
more  uncomfortable  than  we've  got  to.  If  you  put  me 
to  it  I've  got  to  see  that  you  keep  out  of  mischief. 
Give  me  your  word  that  you'll  take  the  first  boat  back 
to  New  York  and  never  say  anything  about  what  you 
may  know  and  I'll  take  it.  That's  fair,  and  it  isn't 
everyone  who  would  do  it." 

"  You  want  to  get  me  out  of  the  way?  " 

"  That's  so.  Stay  out  of  England  for  a  year  and 
keep  your  mouth  shut." 

Jimmie  stroked  his  upper  lip.    "  That's  very  obliging 
of  you,  Ling.     I  feel  flattered  at  your  supposition  that    , 
I  should  keep  my  word.     I  seem  to  be  an  embarrass- 
ment— though  I  don't  know  why." 

"  You  are  an  embarrassment." 

"  Why  ?  "  repeated  Jimmie  artlessly. 

He  had  one  hand  behind  his  back  and  was  signalling 
[187] 


to  Peggy.  He  hoped  fervently  that  she  would  under- 
stand what  it  meant  and  pass  the  pistol.  Once  he  re- 
gained that  he  could  close  the  conversation  when  he 
liked. 

"  Cut  it  out,"  retorted  Ling.  "  You  don't  need  tell- 
ing. I'm  making  you  a  fair  offer.  Will  you  take  it 
or  leave  it  ?  " 

Hallett's  concealed  hand  waved  frantically.  Would 
she  never  understand?  "  My  dear  friend,"  he  said 
airily.  "  Can't  you  see  I'm  trying  to  make  up  my 
mind.  I  haven't  your  faculty  of  quick  decision.  My 
wits  move  slowly.  If  you'd  only  tell  me  why.  You'll 
forgive  me,  but  I  don't  quite  see  where  you  come  in. 
I  could  understand  why  some  people  should  wish  me — 
•er — disposed  of,  but  although  I  dislike  your  appearance 
and  your  ways,  there's  nothing  I  could  do  would  hurt 
.you.  Why  can't  you  live  and  let  live?  " 

Ling  eyed  him  doubtfully.  "  This  is  funny,  isn't  it? 
I'm  not  going  to  stay  here  all  night.  I've  sent  for  some 
people  who  won't  be  disposed  to  argue  with  you.  You'd 
better  hurry  and  make  up  your  mind." 

It  was  evident  that  the  girl  would  never  understand 
the  meaning  of  that  signalling  hand.  Jimmie  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  remained  in  an  attitude  of  thought. 
A  querulous  voice  came  from  the  outer  room. 

"  Peggy !  .  .  .  Gone  away  again."  The  voice  was 
like  that  of  a  plaintive  child  except  that  an  unchildlike 
<oath  slipped  out.  "  And  she  calls  herself  a  sister  .  .  . 

[188] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


leaving  me  here  like  this  .  .  .  alone  with  the  old  man 
...  all  alone. with  the  old  man.  ...  I  tell  you  I 
didn't — I  couldn't.  .  .  .  He's  a  liar.  .  .  .  Peggy, 
come  and  take  him  off.  .  .  .  Those  long  fingers — 
long,  lean  scraggy  fingers.  .  .  .  He'll  strangle  me. 
.  .  .  Blast  it,  why  don't  you  come  and  take  him 
off." 

The  high-pitched  voice  rang  out  in  shrill  alarm.  Ling 
had  taken  a  pace  back  into  the  other  room,  but  he 
was  too  cautious  to  take  his  eyes  off  Hallett.  "  It's 
Errol,"  he  laughed.  "  Gave  me  a  start  for  a  minute. 
Make's  you  feel  as  if  someone's  walking  over  your 
grave." 

"  He's  delirious,"  cried  Peggy.  "  I  must  go  to  him." 
She  raised  her  voice.  "  All  right.  I'm  coming." 

"  Not  by  a  jugful  you  don't,"  said  Ling.  "  He 
won't  hurt  for  five  minutes.  I  don't  allow  anyone  to  get 
behind  me  till  Mr.  Hallett  here's  made  up  his  mind — not 
even  you,  Peggy." 

The  voice  inside  moaned  and  then  burst  into  a  series 
of  insane  chuckles.  "  He's  going  now.  .  .  .  He  thinks 
he's  going  to  get  away  but  he  won't.  .  .  .  It's  no  good 
your  hiding.  ...  I  can  see  you.  I'll  get  you  this 
time." 

Through  the  open  door  Jimmie  could  now  see  him. 
He  had  pulled  himself  off  the  pallet  and,  lamp  in  hand, 
was  advancing  stealthily  towards  Ling,  crouching  as- 
he  moved  and  still  chuckling.  Jimmie's  hand  fell  calmly 

[189] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


on  the  back  of  the  chair  nearest  him.  Things  were 
coming  his  way. 

The  changing  shadows  caused  by  the  lamp-light  told 
Ling  something  of  what  was  happening.  His  head 
shifted  to  look  over  his  shoulder  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second — just  long  enough  for  Jimmie  to  lift  the  chair 
and  bring  it  down  with  crushing  force.  Ling  crumpled 
limply  and  went  down. 

"Ha,  ha!"  shrieked  Errol.  "That's  got  the  old 
devil.  .  .  .  Now  we'll  burn  him  .  .  .  we'll  make  sure 
this  time." 

Before  either  of  them  could  anticipate  his  purpose 
he  had  flung  the  lamp  on  the  stunned  man.  There  was 
a  smashing  of  glass  and  a  bolt  of  flame  shot  upwards. 
Peggy  Greye-Stratton  sprang  forward  with  a  horrified 
cry,  but  already  Jimmie  had  his  coat  off  and  spread 
over  the  flames  which  had  begun  to  lick  at  Ling's  body. 
Luckily  the  reservoir  of  the  lamp  was  of  metal  and 
little  of  the  oil  had  escaped.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had 
the  flames  under. 

He  stood  up,  breathing  hard.  The  girl  was  coaxing 
her  brother  back  to  bed  and  he  was  still  weakly  shout- 
ing in  his  delirium.  Hallett  went  to  her  aid,  but  he 
found  his  help  unnecessary.  Errol  was  as  weak  as  a 
kitten.  He  lay  on  his  mattress  panting. 

"  I  can  manage  now,"  she  said.  "  You  had  better  go, 
Mr.  Hallett.  He  said  he  had  sent  for  help.  Go — go 
quick." 

[190] 


"  I  don't  know  about  that.  It's  impossible  to  leave 
you  here  alone  now." 

Errol,  exhausted,  had  fallen  asleep  once  more.  She 
came  over  to  Jimmie.  "  It's  no  worse  for  me  now  than 
it  was  before.  Besides,  what  can  you  do.  You  will  be 
sacrificing  yourself  for  no  reason  at  all."  She  literally 
pushed  him  towards  the  door.  "  Please,  please,"  she 
entreated. 

A  little  thrill  of  delight  passed  through  him  as  he 
recognised  that  all  her  alarm  was  for  him.  There  was 
reason  in  her  persuasions,  too.  Any  danger  that  she 
was  in  was  not  likely  to  be  either  increased  by  what  had 
happened  or  diminished  by  his  further  presence.  He 
would  only  be  exposing  himself  to  the  needless  risk  of 
being  cut  off  by  Ling's  friends. 

"  I  suppose  I'd  better,"  he  said  reluctantly, 
"  but  first  I'll  have  a  look  at  Ling.  I  didn't  hit  him 
as  hard  as  I  might,  but  it  would  be  as  well  to  make 
sure." 

She  permitted  him  to  return  to  examine  Ling,  and 
as  soon  as  he  had  reassured  himself  that  the  man  was 
only  stunned  he  contemplated  his  work  with  some  satis- 
faction. Here  and  there  the  blazing  oil  had  scorched 
his  clothes,  but  had  done  no  further  damage. 

"  Hurry,"  said  the  girl.     "  Oh,  do  hurry." 

"  Just  one  moment."  He  hastily  ran  his  hands 
through  the  unconscious  man's  pockets.  A  few  papers 
from  the  breast  pocket  he  stuffed  into  his  own.  In  the 

[191] 


right-hand  jacket  pocket  he  found  a  pistol,  which  he 
also  took  possession  of.     He  stood  up. 

"  There,  that's  done." 

"  You  are  going  now?  ' 

"  Yes,  I'm  going."  He  caught  both  her  hands  in  his 
impulsively.  "  If  things  had  been  different,  Peggy — 
if— if " 

She  released  herself,  flushing  hotly.  "  You  mustn't — 
you  mustn't !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  why  don't  you  go." 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  abruptly  and  swung  out  on  to 
the  dark  stairs.  As  he  fumbled  for  the  latch  of  the 
front  door  it  was  pushed  open  from  without.  He  came 
face  to  face  with  a  woman  on  the  step.  He  recognised 
the  slattern  who  had  admitted  Peggy  and  himself. 
She  gave  a  short  ejaculation  of  surprise  and  then 
brushed  by  him. 

He  moved  thoughtfully  out  into  the  open  street. 
Something  there  was  about  her  that  seemed  familiar — 
it  might  have  been  the  eyes,  the  walk,  or  her  voice.  He 
had  gone  a  hundred  yards  when  he  came  to  a  sudden 
halt. 

"  I'd  bet  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  cent  that  that 
woman's  Gwennie  Lyne." 

The  discovery  half  inclined  him  to  return.  The  dark 
figures  of  two  men  brushed  by  him  and  he  walked  quickly 
on,  turning  as  the  sound  of  their  feet  died  away.  He 
moved  back  till  he  was  opposite  the  house  and  watched, 
irresolute.  No  sound  came  from  it  and  he  turned  away 

[192] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


again.  It  seemed  hours  before  he  had  got  clear  of  those 
desolate  streets  into  a  main  road  and  encountered  the 
comforting  blue  uniform  of  a  constable.  To  him  he 
addressed  a  question. 

"  Taxi,"  repeated  the  man,  studying  him  with  specu- 
lation. "  Lord  bless  your  heart.  You  won't  get  a  taxi 
here  at  this  time  of  the  night.  Where  do  you  want  to 
go?  " 

His  eyes  opened  wider  as  Jimmie  named  his  hotel. 
But  he  made  no  comment.  "  Keep  straight  on  till  you 
get  into  the  city,"  he  said.  "  Then  you  might  get  a 
cab." 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  before,  wearied 
in  body  and  mind,  he  dropped  thankfully  into  bed. 

He  was  still  in  bed  when  the  detective  arrived  at  his 
hotel  and  he  sat  up  to  receive  him.  His  chin  was  jutted 
out  doggedly  and  there  was  a  wary  look  in  his  eye.  He 
regarded  the  chief  inspector,  ominous  that  events  which 
concerned  him  were  afoot  but  uncertain  how  much  was 
known. 

"  Come  in,  Menzies,"  he  said  heartily.  "  I  couldn't 
stop  to  see  the  fun  out  last  night  because  I  met  a  friend 
and  wanted  to  get  her  out  of  the  way  of  any  trouble. 
How  did  it  go?  " 

Menzies  dropped  to  rest  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  I 
didn't  come  up  here  last  night,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  be- 
cause I  couldn't  trust  myself  not  to  break  your  jaw." 

Jimmie's  eyebrows  shot  up  in  ingenuous  astonish- 
[193] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


ment.  "  So !  I  didn't  know  you  allowed  personal  feel- 
ings to  interfere  with  your  duty.  You're  a  pugnacious 
brute,  Menzies.  There's  some  cigarettes  on  the  table 
behind  you.  Help  yourself  and  pass  me  one.  Now  " 
he  sent  out  a  blue  ring  of  smoke — "  tell  me  why  you 
want  to  smash  me." 

His  attitude  was  different  from  what  Menzies  had 
expected.  There  might  have  been  defiance,  a  blank  wall 
of  obstinacy,  but  this  touch  of  badinage,  even  though 
the  defiance  and  obstinacy  might  still  be  behind  it,  was 
a  little  more  difficult.  Menzies'  opinion  of  Hallett  went 
up.  He  exhibited  his  bandaged  hand. 

"  This  is  one  reason.  Cincinnati  Red  got  another  and 
worse  one.  I  don't  know  how  he  is  this  morning,  but 
if  he  dies  it's  you  who'll  have  to  be  thanked."  He  had 
no  fear  of  the  "  con  "  man's  wound  proving  fatal,  but 
Jimmie's  chaff  needed  a  little  quenching. 

Hallett's  face  grew  more  serious.  "Gun-play,  eh? 
I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  Still,  you  bagged  your  man." 

"  Bagged  hell,"  said  Menzies.  "  I  beg  your  pardon 
but  even  my  vicar  could  forgive  me  in  the  circumstances. 
Of  course  we  didn't.  However,  I  didn't  come  here  to 
satisfy  your  curiosity  but  my  own.  Where  did  you 
leave  that  woman?  Where  is  she  now?  " 

Hallett  lay  back  in  bed  and  laughed.  "  I  see  now," 
he  gasped.  "  That's  quite  a  natural  mistake.  You've 
heard  that  I  took  a  girl  away  and  you  think  it  was 
Peggy — Miss  Greye-Stratton." 

[194] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  Mrs.  Ling,"  corrected  the  inspector.  "  I  don't 
think — I  know."  He  menaced  the  other  with  his  fore- 
finger. "  I'm  not  going  to  fence  with  you.  Out  with 
it." 

Jimmie  frowned.  "  Don't  take  that  tone  with  me,"  he 
warned.  "  I'm  about  sick  of  being  bullied.  I  tell  you 
for  your  own  satisfaction  that  it  was  not  that  lady.  It 
was  someone  quite  different,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  dining  in  the  restaurant.  I  took  her  out 
because  I  didn't  want  her  to  be  there  when  the  trouble 
arose.  Now  take  that  or  leave  it.  I  don't  care  a 
tinker's  curse  whether  you  believe  it  or  not."  His  hand 
sought  the  bell  over  his  head. 

"  I  should  leave  that  bell  alone,"  ordered  Menzies 
curtly.  "  It  won't  do  to  push  me  too  far."  Hallett 
dropped  his  hand.  "You  can  tell  the  lady's  name, 
of  course,  and  bring  her  to  prove  it?  " 

"  I  have  said  so,"  said  Jimmie  coldly. 

Something  flashed  for  an  instant  in  Menzies'  hand. 
*'  Then  you're  a  liar,"  he  cried  and  his  weight  crushed 
the  other  back  on  the  bed.  The  detective's  left  hand 
was  not  so  badly  injured  as  to  be  totally  useless,  and 
Jimmie,  taken  by  surprise  and  at  a  disadvantage,  was 
unable  to  put  up  any  sort  of  a  fight.  In  three  minutes 
his  arms  were  round  a  bedpost  and  a  pair  of  patent 
self-adjusting  handcuffs  encircled  his  wrists. 

It  needed  the  physical  tussle  to  make  his  equanimity 
give  way.  He  was  angry — very  angry,  and  the  crown- 

[195] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


ing  indignity  of  the  handcuffs  chafed  his  spirit  even 
more  than  his  wrists.  The  detective  calmly  extinguished 
a  smouldering  spark  that  threatened  the  bedclothes  and 
tossed  Jimmie's  cigarette  away.  He  might  have  been  a 
block  of  wood  for  all  the  notice  he  took  of  his  passion 
and  his  protests.  He  resumed  his  seat  and  went  on 
quietly  smoking  his  cigarette  with  an  air  of  placid  satis- 
faction. 

Jimmie  realised  quickly  that  his  most  barbed  epi- 
thets were  passing  over  the  detective's  head.  The  first 
spasm  of  wrath  passed.  He  gulped  something  in  his 
throat.  "  If  you  haven't  gone  mad,"  he  said,  his  voice 
vibrating  with  the  effort  he  made  to  control  himself, 
"  perhaps  you'll  be  gracious  enough  to  explain." 

"  That's  better — much  better,"  said  Menzies  encour- 
agingly. "  You'll  soon  be  polite  if  you  persevere." 

"  Well "— Hallett  choked  again.  "Tell  me,  what 
are  you  arresting  me  for?  " 

"  I'm  not  arresting  you,  sonnie.  Oh,  yes,  I  know. 
I'm  going  to  act  in  an  even  more  flagrantly  illegal 
manner.  I'll  take  the  risk  of  being  broke.  You  can't 
tell  me  anything  about  that.  You'll  have  plenty  of 
chance  to  appeal  to  your  ambassador.  Or  if  you  like 
you  can  bring  me  before  a  police  court  for  assault." 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  bitterness  that  was  not  lost 
upon  his  hearer.  Weir  Menzies  had  spent  a  lifetime  in 
the  service  of  Scotland  Yard  and  knew  exactly  what  he 
was  risking.  He  was  behaving,  as  he  had  said,  with 

[196] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


flagrant  illegality  that  could  scarcely  be  justified  even 
on  the  suspicions  he  harboured.  He  had  faced  Ling's 
bullets  more  cheerfully  than  this,  which,  if  anything 
went  wrong,  would  lead  to  inevitable  dismissal  from  the 
service. 

Jimmie  wriggled  himself  out  of  bed  to  a  sitting  posi- 
tion. "  This  is  a  fool's  game  to  play,"  he  protested 
more  mildly.  "  What  do  you  expect  to  gain  by  it, 
anyway?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  now  you're  more  or  less  in 
your  senses.  By  the  way,  I  apologise  for  calling  you  a 
liar.  It  slipped  out.  But " — he  brought  his  clenched 
fist  heavily  down  on  the  bedclothes — "  I  warned  you 
what  would  happen  if  you  stood  in  my  way.  You 
spoilt  things  last  night — I'll  do  you  the  credit  to  sup- 
pose that  it  was  without  deliberation.  Still  you  were 
tacitly  on  your  honour  and  it  was  treachery  to  me 
when  you  did  what  you  did." 

Hallett  flushed.  "  Easy,  Mr.  Menzies.  You'd  have 
done  the  same  in  my  place." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  denied  the  other.  "  I've  been  fair  to 
you  all  through  and  you've  done  your  best  to  thwart 
every  scheme  of  mine  because "  He  checked  him- 
self suddenly  as  he  saw  the  change  on  Jimmie's  face. 
"  Then  you  insult  my  common  sense  now  by  telling  me 
that  this  girl  was  at  the  Petit  Savoy — that  it  was 
someone  else." 

"  You  don't  know  all  the  circumstances,"  said  Hallett. 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  No,  but  I'm  going  to.  I  formally  ask  your  permis- 
sion now  to  search  your  clothes.  I  warn  you  I  intend 
to  do  it  whether  you  give  me  your  permission  or  not." 

Hallett  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  Oh,  very  well, 
then,"  he  said  at  last  "  Go  on." 


1 1981 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  is  easy  to  see  a  mistake  after  it  has  been  made. 
Jimmie  recognised  his  with  the  first  chill  touch  of  the 
handcuffs.  He  had  merely  dropped  out  of  his  clothes 
the  night  before,  not  troubling  to  remove  or  inspect 
anything.  The  least  he  should  have  done  was  to  have 
placed  the  address  Peggy  had  given  him  in  safety. 

He  raved  helplessly.  Weir  Menzies  sat  on  the  end 
of  the  bed  and  waited  imperturbably.  Jimmie  did  not 
pick  and  choose  his  words. 

"  Bad  language  won't  help,"  said  Menzies,  once  again 
the  stern  moralist.  "  Make  up  your  mind  quick ;  I 
can't  wait  here  all  day." 

Hallett  suppressed  the  vitriolic  retort  that  rose  to  his 
lips.  He  was  in  no  position  to  justify  violent  language. 
"  Say,  this  is  a  joke,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  joke,"  retorted  the  inspector  grimly. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Jimmie  with  inspiration,  "  you 
own  that  you're  doing  an  illegal  thing.  Now  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do.  Unfasten  these  things  and  run  away 
for  five  minutes  and  when  you  come  back  you  can 
search  all  you  want  to.  There'll  be  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars in  it  for  you  too."  Ten  thousand  dollars,  he  re- 
flected, was  a  small  price  to  pay  for  the  preservation 
of  the  secret  he  held. 

Menzies'  ruddy  face  had  taken  on  a  deeper  tinge  of 

[199] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


crimson.  "  You're  wanting  to  bribe  me,"  he  said 
thickly. 

"  That's  a  nasty  word,"  said  Jimmie.  "  Illegal 
searchings  are  not  your  duty — and  how  can  it  be 
bribery  if  all  I  ask  you  to  do  is  to  keep  within  the 
limits  of  your  right.  Come.  I'm  a  fairly  rich  man 
and  I'll  make  it  fifteen  thousand." 

A  brawny  fist  was  shaken  within  an  inch  or  two  of  his 
eyes.  Menzies  had  for  the  moment  let  himself  go  and 
was  shaken  with  anger.  "  You  dirty  reptile,"  he 
blazed  and  then  suddenly  checked  himself.  "  The  C. 
I.  D.  aren't  grafters,"  he  went  on  more  mildly.  "  If 
you'd  been  in  London  longer  you'd  have  known  that.  It 
isn't  fair,  Mr.  Hallett  " — he  shook  his  head  reprov- 
ingly— "  it  isn't  fair." 

Jimmie  observed  him  with  some  astonishment.  He 
did  not  know  the  scale  of  pay  of  English  detectives,  but 
he  imagined  that  fifteen  thousand  dollars  would  have 
removed  most  scruples.  "  Don't  get  in  a  tear  about  it," 
he  said.  "  For  a  man  who  plays  the  game  like  this  " — 
he  glanced  at  the  handcuffs — "  I  don't  see  what  you've 
got  to  complain  of  if  you  get  insulted.  You're  not  a 
police  officer  now,  remember.  You're  a  common  or 
garden  burglar." 

Menzies  had  resumed  his  placid  equanimity.  It  was 
difficult  to  reconcile  the  placidity  with  which  he  was 
now  enveloped  to  the  resentment  that  had  shaken  him  a 
moment  before.  "  I  suppose  I  am,"  he  remarked. 

[200] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  That  is  if  you  won't  give  me  the  permission  I  asked 
for  a  while  ago." 

"  I'll  see  you  burn  first,"  retorted  Jimmie. 

"  Then  I  must  go  on  with  it,"  said  Menzies,  and 
quietly  began  to  possess  himself  of  the  scattered  articles 
of  attire  that  littered  the  floor. 

He  went  through  the  pockets  methodically,  laying  the 
articles  in  an  orderly  heap  on  a  chair  one  by  one  as 
he  examined  them.  Jimmie  saw  him  pause  over  a  scrap 
of  paper  on  which  Peggy  had  scribbled  her  address. 
"  Does  your  friend — the  lady  who  isn't  Mrs.  Ling — live 
at  Shadwell?  "  he  asked.  "  That's  a  bit  of  a  change 
from  Palace  Avenue,  isn't  it?  I'll  use  your  telephone  a 
second,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Make  yourself  at  home,"  said  Hallett.  "Don't 
mind  me." 

The  detective  lifted  the  receiver.  "  Give  me  a  line. 
.  .  .  City  400.  ...  Is  that  the  Yard?  ...  I  want 
Royal  or  Congreve  if  they're  there.  Yes,  Mr.  Menzies 
speaking.  Hello,  is  that  you,  Congreve?  .  .  .  Oh,  gone 
out,  is  he?  .  .  .  Anything  fresh,  Royal?  " 

The  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  seemed  to 
Jimmie  to  be  intolerably  loquacious.  A  grin  slowly 
stole  over  Menzies'  set  features.  "  That's  darned 
funny,"  he  commented  at  last.  "  So  you've  got  it  from 
two  ends.  Curiously  enough  I've  just  run  across  the 
same  address  here — that's  what  I  rang  up  about.  I'm 
in  Mr.  Hallett's  rooms  at  the  Palatial.  He's  very  an- 

[201] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


noyed  with  me,  Royal.  .  .  .  Eh?  .  .  .  No,  they'd 
better  not  do  anything  unless  they  spot  Ling.  Keep 
close  observation  on  anyone  in  or  out.  You'd  better 
come  on  here." 

He  turned  to  Hallett  and  tapped  the  paper  in  his 
hand.  "  If  this  is  all  you're  upset  about,  Mr.  Hallett, 
you  needn't  blame  yourself  or  me.  This  address  has 
cropped  up  at  the  Yard  from  two  other  sources.  Some 
of  our  men  are  breathing  the  salubrious  air  of  Shadwell 
at  this  minute.  If  I  hadn't  been  in  a  hurry  to  see  you 
I'd  have  known  it  half  an  hour  or  more  ago.  Promise 
me  you'll  sit  quiet  and  wait  without  interference  while 
I  finish  off  and  I'll  unhook  you." 

"  I  don't  take  back  anything  I've  said,"  declared 
Jimmie,  "  but  I'll  promise  that.  I'd  like  to  admire  your 
methods  in  something  more  solid  than  pyjamas  and 
that's  a  fact.  Do  you  mind  if  I  order  breakfast?  " 

Menzies  smiled  as  he  shook  his  head.  You'll  not 
starve  if  you  wait  ten  minutes  till  Royal  comes.  I'm  not 
going  to  take  any  chances  of  you  sending  a  warning, 
directly  or  indirectly.  Not  that  it  would  do  any  good 
if  you  managed  to  slip  anything  through.  A  mouse 
couldn't  get  in  or  out  of  Levoine  Street  now." 

It  was  a  palpable  hit.  Hallett  had  hoped  that  the 
entrance  of  a  servant  might  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
convey  something  to  Peggy.  His  face  fell  as  the  other 
exploded  the  plan.  He  stretched  himself  as  Menzies 
unlocked  the  handcuffs. 

[202] 


"  Yes,  I  guess  I  can  hold  out  that  long.  I  wish  you'd 
forget  your  profession  sometimes,  Menzies.  I'd  hate  to 
have  to  suspect  a  man  of  evil  because  he  wants  his 
breakfast.  Say,  if  it's  not  giving  away  secrets,  how 
did  Scotland  Yard  get  on  to  the  address?  " 

Menzies  postponed  his  rummaging  for  the  moment. 
"  There's  no  secret  about  it,"  he  said.  "  It  was  only  a 
question  of  how  long  a  well-dressed  girl,  obviously  of 
the  superior  classes,  could  live  in  a  slum  without  at- 
tracting notice — especially  when  she's  being  looked  for 
by  the  police.  A  report  that  she  had  been  located  by 
our  Shadwell  people  was  received  this  morning.  Then 
again — you  remember  that  note  she  sent  calling  you 
over  to  Brixton?  " 

"  Well !  "  said  Jimmie. 

"  That  was  handed  over  to  an  expert  for  more  de- 
tailed examination  than  we  were  able  to  give  it  our- 
selves. Royal  hasn't  told  me  anything  but  the  result, 
though  I  can  guess  how  it  was  done.  Very  few  inks 
are  chemically  alike.  The  expert  must  have  applied 
tests  which  brought  out  the  fact  that  certain  words  in 
that  note  had  been  written  in  a  different  ink  from  the 
others.  You  follow  me?  The  inference  would  be  irre- 
sistible and  a  properly  skilled  photographer  would  be 
able  to  bring  out  the  underlying  words.  All  automatic, 
Mr.  Hallett — we  were  just  bound  to  find  her." 

"  I  suppose  you  were,"  said  Hallett,  absently  envelop- 
ing himself  in  a  big  dressing-gown. 
[203] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


The  chief  inspector  picked  the  revolver  from  a  heap 
of  belongings  he  had  abstracted  from  the  young  man's 
pockets  and  weighed  it  carelessly  in  his  hand  while  he 
scrutinised  the  young  man  from  under  his  half-shut 
eyelids.  "  I  may  have  been  doing  you  both  an  injus- 
tice," he  confessed.  "  I'll  own  I  can't  make  out  why  she 
wanted  you  at  Shadwell  and  how  it  came  about  that  the 
note  got  altered  by  someone — apparently  without  her 
knowledge." 

"  Can't  you,"  said  Jimmie  indifferently.  He  began 
to  appreciate  the  point  which  was  being  led  up  to. 

"  Now,"  went  on  Menzies  mildly,  "  I  know  you've 
jour  own  notions  as  to  which  side  of  the  fence  you'd 
prefer  to  be,  but  it's  certain  you've  got  some  inside 
knowledge.  You're  wise  enough  to  know  what  will  most 
likely  be  happening  in  a  few  hours.  Why  not  give  me 
the  right  end  of  the  thing?  No  one  need  ever  know 
it  came  from  you  and  I'll  do  my  best  to  keep  things 
pleasant.  I  only  want  to  get  at  the  truth.  Nothing 
•can  stop  that.  But  you  can  make  it  come  a  bit  quicker 
if  you  like.  Of  course  I  don't  believe  she's  the  sort  of 
girl  who'd  be  in  it  bad." 

An  involuntary  laugh  broke  from  Jimmie,  though 
he  was  feeling  very  far  from  merriment.  "  Trying  a 
new  tack,"  he  said.  "  Why,  I  thought  you'd  loaded  the 
lady  up  with  all  the  crimes  in  the  calendar.  Still,  I'm 
glad  to  see  some  glimmerings  of  common  sense  and  I'll 
reward  you.  She's  perfectly  innocent  of  anything — 
[204] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


rather  the  other  way  about.  Now  if  you  go  running 
yourself  into  trouble  don't  say  I  didn't  warn  you.  Be- 
cause if  you  do  involve  her  I'll  get  the  biggest  lawyer  that 
money  can  buy  to  raise  particular  hell  for  your  benefit." 

"  Ah?  "  Menzies  caught  his  breath.  "  So  you  fixed 
the  thing  last  night.  She's  told  you  the  whole  story 
or  you  wouldn't  be  so  cocksure.  Do  you  know  what  the 
penalty  is  for  an  accessory  after  the  fact  in  a  case  of 
murder?  " 

Watching  acutely  he  caught  the  slightest  change  of 
countenance  in  the  young  man.  It  was  gone  instantly. 
"  I've  half  a  mind  to  take  you  in  on  that  charge  and 
let  you  try  that  lawyer  for  yourself,"  he  pursued. 

"  And  make  yourself  the  laughing-stock  of  the  coun- 
try," countered  the  other.  "  Why,  you  haven't  a  shred 
of  evidence  that  could  justify  it  and  you  forget  I'm  an 
American  citizen.  You  wouldn't  hear  the  eagle  scream 
— nunno." 

"  You're  quite  sure  about  there  being  no  evidence — 
quite  sure  ?  "  Jimmie  felt  an  uneasy  thrill  run  down  his 
spine.  "  I  could  justify  your  arrest  a  whole  lot  if  I 
wanted  to.  This,  for  example,  would  almost  do  by 
itself."  He  held  up  the  revolver.  "  You  were  carrying 
an  automatic  yesterday.  Now  it's  a  revolver — and  a 
revolver,  moreover,  with  the  initials  J.  E.  G.-S.  engraved 
on  it — the  revolver  that  used  to  belong  to  Mr.  Greve- 
Stratton."  He  swung  it  carelessly  to  and  fro  by  the 
muzzle. 

[205] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Jimmie  started.  "You  don't  say?"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  I  got  it "  He  paused. 

"  You  got  it  from  Ling,"  filled  in  the  detective. 
"  Quite  so."  He  broke  it  apart  and  squinted  through 
it.  "  There's  three  chambers  been  recently  fired."  He 
looked  up  enquiringly.  "  Go  on." 

There  was  just  the  right  touch  of  expectation  in  his 
voice  and  manner  as  though  he  took  it  for  granted  that 
Hallett  intended  to  continue  his  explanation.  But 
Jimmie  had  no  intention  of  doing  so.  He  had  been  sur- 
prised into  half  an  admission,  but  he  was  to  be  drawn 
no  further.  It  might  be  that  nothing  he  could  reveal 
could  affect  the  course  of  events,  but  having  given  his 
word  to  Peggy  he  intended  to  remain  silent.  He  was 
scarcely  prepared  to  admit  even  what  the  lawyers  call 
common  ground. 

"  You're  doing  very  well  by  yourself,"  he  commented. 
"  You  don't  need  my  help." 

There  had  been  little  serious  intention  behind  Weir 
Menzies'  threat  of  arrest.  On  the  face  of  things,  as  he 
had  explained,  he  could  have  justified  the  action.  Nor 
would  he  have  hesitated  had  he  believed  that  any  real 
good  would  come  of  it.  He  would  have  been  as  ruthless 
of  Jimmie  Hallett's  feelings  as  he  was  of  his  own  ener- 
gies if  thereby  he  could  have  gained  a  step.  Of  course 
Hallett's  infatuation — that  was  Menzies'  private  word 
for  it — had  been  a  stumbling-block  and  it  would  be  still 
advisable  to  look  after  him.  But  to  put  him  under  lock 

[206] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


and  key  would  be  to  seal  his  lips  utterly — Menzies  had 
judged  his  character  aright  in  that — and  if  treated  in 
another  fashion  he  might  yet  be  useful.  Nevertheless, 
the  threat  was  a  bludgeon  to  be  used  if  necessary. 

He  put  the  revolver  aside  and  went  on  with  his  in- 
spection. He  hesitated  over  the  letters  and  then,  with  a 
muttered  apology,  opened  one.  There  were  four  all  told 
and  he  steadily  ploughed  through  them.  "  Ling  must 
be  very  fond  of  you,"  he  observed  with  heavy  irony. 
"  Not  only  have  you  the  pistol,  but  some  of  his  personal 
letters.  Lord ! "  he  burst  out,  "  what  game  were  you 
playing  last  night?  I'd  give  a  lot  to  know.  You  cer- 
tainly have  the  knack  of  dropping  into  the  thick  of 
things." 

"  Yes,  there  were  some  letters,"  agreed  Jimmie  coolly. 
"  I  haven't  had  time  to  read  them.  Anything  of  im- 
portance in  them  ?  " 

"  There  are  no  addresses,"  evaded  Menzies,  "  and  he 
doesn't  seem  to  have  saved  the  envelopes,  so  we  can't  tell 
where  he  received  them." 

A  knock  at  the  door  heralded  the  appearance  of 
Royal,  who  nodded  a  genial  good  morning  to  Hallett  and 
then  glided  unobtrusively  to  a  seat.  Menzies  twisted  the 
letters  in  his  hand  with  an  air  of  uncertainty. 

"  I've  got  two  courses  open  to  me,"  he  explained  to 
Hallett.  "  One,  as  I  said  just  now,  to  arrest  you.  The 
other  is  to  take  your  word  that  you  won't  attempt  to 
leave  your  rooms  here  nor  to  send  any  message  to  any- 

[207] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


one  until  I  see  you  again.  In  that  case  I  should  leave 
Royal  here  with  you." 

"  You've  got  an  everlastingly  cool  nerve,"  observed 
Jimmie. 

"  Hang  it,  man,  what  do  you  expect?  "  said  the  other 
impatiently.  "  The  alternative  is  more  than  ninety-nine 
men  out  of  a  hundred  would  offer  you." 

Jimmie  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly.  He  saw 
Menzies'  difficulty — saw  also  that  the  chief  inspector  was 
determined  at  any  cost  to  keep  him  out  of  the  game. 
Inwardly  he  writhed  at  his  own  impotence.  If  he  could 
only  have  got  one  word  to  Peggy  Greye-Stratton.  ... 

Outwardly  he  was  philosophic.  "  No  cell  for  mine," 
he  said  cheerfully.  "  You've  got  the  drop  on  me  and 
I've  got  to  do  what  you  say.  I  will  pass  my  word, 
though  I'd  take  it  kindly  if  you'd  send  on  what  news 
you  can.  .  .  .  Do  you  play  piquet,  Mr.  Royal?  " 


[  208  ] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

UNLESS  circumstances  dictated  haste  Weir  Menzies  was 
never  in  a  hurry.  In  essentials  he  was  a  business  man. 
He  was  always  ready  to  seize  a  fleeting  opportunity — 
but  for  choice  he  preferred  method  and  exactitude  rather 
than  gambling  on  luck.  There  was  nothing  he  could  do 
at  Shadwell  for  the  time  being  that  could  not  be  done 
equally  well  by  the  men  already  on  duty  there. 

The  tactics  of  the  moment  were  quite  clear  in  his 
mind.  Peggy  Greye-Stratton,  by  herself,  was  of  minor 
importance  compared  with  the  possibility  of  laying 
Gwennie  Lyne  and  Ling  by  the  heels.  The  direct  route 
to  that  objective  seemed  to  lay  through  her.  Moreover 
— though  he  would  not  admit  it,  even  to  himself — he 
felt  a  certain  personal  animosity.  Both  Ling  and  the 
woman  had  contrived  to  humiliate  him  professionally. 
He  wanted  to  locate  them — and  then  .  .  . 

He  was  perched  on  a  high  stool  before  his  tall  desk 
in  the  chief  inspector's  room.  The  dossier  of  the  case 
lay  in  front  of  him — reports,  statements,  photographs, 
everything  that  had  been  gathered  together  by  the  elab- 
orate machinery  of  the  C.  I.  D. — neatly  typed  and 
carefully  indexed.  Also  he  had  his  own  Greek  notes  and 
several  facts  not  yet  incorporated  in  the  dossier. 

He  rubbed  his  hand  through  his  scanty  hair  and 
chewed  at  the  end  of  a  quill  pen.  For  five  minutes  he 

[209] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


allowed  his  thoughts  uninterrupted  flow  and  then  there 
came  to  him  Foyle,  spruce  and  alert  with  twinkling  blue 
eyes. 

"  Quite  a  dust  up  last  night,  I  hear,"  he  observed. 

"  Some,"  agreed  Menzies.  He  got  down  off  his  stool, 
reached  for  a  tobacco  jar  and  filled  his  pipe.  "  I  was 
coming  in  to  see  you,  sir.  I'd  like  to  arrange  to  have 
fifty  men  on  tap.  It's  likely  I'll  want  'em  to-night." 

Foyle  polished  his  pince-nez.  "  As  close  up  as  that. 
I  heard  that  you'd  got  an  address.  But  fifty  men ! 
That  means  a  raid.  You'll  have  the  newspaper  men 
there." 

The  superintendent  hated  unnecessary  limelight  on 
the  operations  of  the  C.  I.  D.  and  he  was  not  blind  to 
the  effects  of  human  nature.  Among  fifty  men,  however 
carefully  picked,  there  was  sure  to  be  some  who  had  been 
carefully  cultivated  by  journalists  and  he  knew  that  a 
friendly  hint  would  be  passed  on  to  Fleet  Street  before 
many  hours  were  over. 

"  I  only  want  them  available,"  explained  Menzies.  "  I 
don't  know  that  I'll  use  'em.  We  may  be  able  to  do 
things  quietly,  but  if  a  house-to-house  search  is  neces- 
sary and  there  should  be  any  more  gun-play ' 

"  Right  you  are.  I'll  see  they're  at  hand  for  a  call. 
Now  about  things  in  general?  " 

"  I  was  just  thinking  it  out,"  said  Menzies.  "  I 
can't  just  place  things,  though  I've  got  more  than 
enough  to  act  on." 

[210] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


The  other  removed  his  glasses.  "  What  you  mean," 
he  smiled,  "  is  that  you  don't  want  to  commit  yourself 
to  anything  till  you're  sure." 

"  That's  so,"  agreed  Menzies.  "  You'll  remember 
when  we  went  over  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens  we 
couldn't  find  Greye-Stratton's  pistol.  I  came  across  it 
this  morning.  In  fact  I  have  it  here." 

"  Hallett?  "  ejaculated  Foyle  with  a  lift  of  his  eye- 
brows. 

"  Hallett  it  is.  I've  just  come  from  him.  I  did  think 
he  was  safe  last  night.  He  was  out  of  my  sight  for  less 
than  three  minutes — and  I'm  blest  if  he  wasn't  on  the 
warpath  on  his  own  again — or  rather  with  the  girl. 
She's  got  that  young  man  absolutely  dazzled.  It  seems 
that  they  met  Ling  after  he  dodged  me.  Now  where 
she's  concerned  you  couldn't  make  him  talk,  not  if  you 
used  a — a  "- — he  wrestled  for  an  illustration — "  a  can- 
opener.  And  he  now  knows  a  deuce  of  a  lot,  too.  If  I 
could  draw  it  out  of  him  I'd  have  the  case  pretty  com- 
plete or  I'm  a  fool.  Look  here."  He  ran  through  the 
papers  on  his  desk  and  picked  out  two.  "  I  picked 
these  papers  off  him  just  now."  He  read: 

"  *  Dear  Stewart — I  was  right  pleased  to  get 
your  letter  and  shall  be  glad  when  you  come  over 
again.  Teddy  is  just  fine  and  says  he  would  like 
to  see  his  dad  again.  It  would  be  fine  if  only  we 
could  settle  down  and  you  didn't  have  to  be  sent  on 
[211] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


those  long  business  journeys  any  more.  As  I  wrote 
you  last  time,  the  show  has  gone  bust  and  I  am 
resting.  So  if  you  can  spare  a  little  money  I  would 
be  glad  of  a  little  cheque,  though  I  hate  worrying 
you,  specially  when  you  are  so  full  of  business.  I 
wish  sometimes  you  had  a  regular  berth  here.  Of 
course,  the  money  would  not  be  so  big,  but  it  would 
be  certain  and  we  could  all  be  together.  But  I 
won't  worry  you,  old  boy.  Much  love  from  Teddy 
and  from  CHBIS.'" 

"  A  woman,"  commented  Foyle.  "  You'd  better  burn 
up  the  wires,  Menzies." 

"That's  seen  to.  This  is  the  other  letter:  *  The 
bulls  have  tumbled  to  me.  Have  just  dropped  one  in 
the  ceDar  along  with  J.  H.  and  am  clearing  in  case  his 
pals  turn  up.  Am  coming  straight  you  know  where  and 
am  sending  this  by  messenger  in  case  you  are  out.  Come 
along  and  see  me.' 

"  There's  no  signature  to  that.  It  doesn't  need  one. 
I'm  wondering  how  Hallett  got  these  things  and  the 
pistol." 

"  And  I'm  wondering,"  said  Foyle,  "  how  you  got 
them  from  Hallett.  Have  you  arrested  him  ?  " 

Menzies  met  his  chief's  gaze  steadily.  "  No,  sir," 
he  said. 

A  ready  smile  broke  over  Foyle's  face.  It  was  not 
always  advisable  that  he,  as  head  of  the  department, 


THE     MAELSTROM 


should  know  exactly  the  methods  by  which  a  result  had 
been  obtained.  Men  with  the  experience  and  sagacity 
of  Weir  Menzies  could  be  trusted  not  to  endanger  the 
reputation  of  the  C.  I.  D.  He  ignored  the  chief  in- 
spector's lack  of  candour. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  he'll  keep.  If  the  evidence  doesn't 
crop  up  elsewhere  we'll  have  to  see  what  can  be  squeezed 
out  of  him  in  the  witness  box.  Don't  you  wish  this  was 
France,  Menzies  ?  " 

"  I  never  held  with  French  methods,  sir.  I  call  a 
man  down  and  take  my  chance  sometimes,  but  the  third 
degree  isn't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be.  I  believe  in 
judicious  firmness  and  mildness." 

"  I  expect  that's  how  you  treated  Hallett.  Never 
mind  that,  though.  Ling  wouldn't  have  parted  with 
those  things  willingly.  Your  young  friend  must  have 
been  fairly  successful  in  handling  him.  How  do  you 
figure  it  all  out  generally?  " 

"  Well,"  Menzies  rubbed  his  chin  meditatively. 
"  There's  money  somewhere,  though  that's  to  be  ex- 
pected. They're  not  folk  who'd  set  out  for  a  coup  with- 
out a  stocking  to  draw  on.  They've  been  spending 
money  pretty  freely  for  boltholes.  There  was  Gwennie 
Lyne's  house  at  Brixton.  Then  there's  this  Blooms- 
bury  place  into  which  Ling  carried  us  last  night.  I've 
just  been  reading  the  report  of  some  enquiries  Royal 
made.  Ling  took  the  whole  place  furnished  a  month 

[213] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


ago  under  the  name  of  Ryder.  He's  never  actually 
stayed  there." 

He  glanced  under  his  heavy  eyebrows  at  the  superin- 
tendent, who  jingled  some  keys  in  his  pocket,  and  re- 
turned a  look  of  interrogation. 

"  It's  solid,  unpretentious,  and  central,"  prompted 
Menzies. 

The  superintendent  gave  his  keys  a  final  irritable 
shake.  "  When  it's  a  jar,"  he  murmured. 

*'  Just  the  place  for  a  newly  married  couple  to  settle 
down  till  all  the  legal  formalities  in  connection  with 
Greye-Stratton's  property  were  settled,'*  went  on 
Menzies. 

"Oh!  I  thought  it  was  a  riddle.  That's  just  like 
Ling.  He'd  have  things  cut  and  dried.  Well,  why 
didn't  he — or  they  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  ask  the  lady.  Hallett's  got 
a  glimmering  of  the  reason,  too.  Personally  I  can  think 
of  a  hundred  answers  to  the  question.  The  only  thing 
is  to  know  which  is  right." 

"  Ling,"  observed  the  superintendent  with  apparent 
irrelevance,  "  hasn't  the  record  of  a  man  who'll  handle 
tar  without  gloves.  He's  always  up  to  now  found  his 
tools  to  do  the  actual  work.  Gwennie  Lyne's  the  same 
breed.  That  leaves  two  people  to  pick  from — Errol 
and  Dago  Sam.  If  it  came  to  the  choice  I'd  go  nap 
on  Errol." 

Menzies  smiled  sardonically.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
[214] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


admiration  for  and  loyalty  to  his  chief,  but  he  was 
human  enough  to  be  pleased  when  he  could  register  a 
score. 

"  Then  you'd  be  wrong,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  You  think  that  because  Ling  had  Greye-Stratton's 
pistol  he " 

"  Not  altogether.  There's  another  little  point, 
though  I  only  came  across  it  yesterday.  Did  you  no- 
tice the  fireguard  in  Greye-Stratton's  place — I  mean  in 
the  room  where  he  was  found  dead  ?  " 

"  A  heavy  brass  thing,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes.  I  was  having  another  look  over  the  place  yes- 
terday when  I  found  a  thread  had  been  caught  in  one 
of  the  sharp  edges.  I  didn't  speak  about  it  because  I 
wasn't  sure  it  had  anything  to  do  with  the  case.  It  so 
happened  that,  in  his  hurry  to  get  away  last  night,  Ling 
tore  a  bit  of  his  coat.  I  took  'em  both  along  to  Fynne- 
Racton  to  have  a  look  at  under  the  microscope.  He 
now  says  definitely  that  they're  exactly  similar." 

"  That's  useful,  laddie,"  observed  the  superintendent. 
"  A  nice  little  bit  of  evidence  to  justify  his  arrest  for 
murder — but  you'll  have  to  go  further  than  that  for 
conviction.  There's  going  to  be  a  big  fight  when  this 
comes  on  for  trial.  The  pistol  doesn't  count.  You 
haven't  even  got  Hallett's  word  that  it  came  from  Ling 
and  if  you  had  you  can  see  the  line  of  the  defence.  It's 
word  against  word  and  you  can  see  what  counsel  would 
do  with  Hallett."  He  made  a  gesture  as  though  ad- 
[215] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


dressing  an  imaginary  jury.  "  And  this  man,  gentle- 
men— this  American,  Hallett.  He  has  sworn  that  the 
pistol  produced  was  taken  from  the  prisoner  Ling. 
Ling  has  denied  on  oath  that  he  ever  saw  the  weapon 
before.  You'll  not  need  reminding,  gentlemen,  of  the 
peculiar  and  extraordinary  circumstances  under  which 
this  man  Hallett  became  associated  with  the  case.  He 
is  found  in  a  locked  room  with  the  murdered  man  and 
he  tells  a  confiding  police  officer — mark  you  I  am  not 
saying  a  word  against  the  police — an  honest  enough 
detective  whose  intelligence  perhaps  runs  in  narrow 
channels  ..." 

Menzies  eyed  his  chief  ruefully.  "  Thank  you,  sir," 
he  said  drily. 

Foyle's  eyes  twinkled  genially.  "  Well.  You  know 
that's  what  they'll  say.  It's  the  obvious  line  of  defence. 
As  for  the  cloth  " — he  snapped  his  fingers — "  a  com- 
mon cloth  sworn  to  by  a  dozen  experts  as  being  worn  by 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  men.  There's  heaps  of 
evidence  of  motive  and  no  doubt  you'll  be  able  to  get  it 
in,  but  there's  gaps  in  your  other  evidence,  Menzies, 
and  don't  you  go  forgetting  it." 

Menzies  tapped  his  pipe  on  the  heel  of  his  boot  and 
grinned.  Foyle  was  indulging  in  no  mere  captious  criti- 
cism. It  was  not  unusual  for  the  weak  links  in  an  im- 
portant investigation  to  be  thus  examined  when  it  was 
on  the  point  of  closing  up,  for  the  C.  I.  D.  likes  to  be 
prepared.  The  work  of  the  department  does  not  finish 

[216] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


with  the  catching  of  a  criminal.  Every  shred  of  rele- 
vant evidence  has  to  be  drawn  up  in  lucid  detail  from 
which  the  Treasury  solicitors  prepare  a  brief  for 
counsel.  It  does  not  do  to  take  anything  for  granted. 
Menzies  could  picture,  too,  the  cross-examination  of 
an  unwilling  Jimmie  and  the  conclusions  that  might  be 
drawn  from  it. 

"  There's  the  girl,  of  course,"  he  muttered  thought- 
fully. "  She'd  be  even  better  than  Hallett  in  a  way. 
If  we  didn't  have  to  put  her  in  the  dock  she  might  be 
persuaded  to  tell  what  she  knows." 

"  Aren't  you  forgetting  she's  Mrs.  Ling?  "  said 
Foyle.  "  You  can't  compel  a  woman  to  give  evidence 
against  her  husband." 

"Against  her  husband — no,"  said  Menzies. 


[217] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THERE  was  no  outward  evidence  that  Levoine  Street 
was  under  any  extraordinary  police  surveillance.  Now 
and  again  a  blue-coated  constable  picked  his  way  at 
the  regulation  two-and-a-half  miles  an  hour  down  its 
sordid  length.  In  the  taproom  of  a  dingy  public-house 
a  couple  of  shabby  loafers  were  playing  dominoes  with 
a  not  infrequent  casual  glance  through  the  open  door 
into  the  rain-sodden  road.  There  was  no  public-house 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  street,  but  two  waterside  la- 
bourers had  secured  a  "  kip  "  in  one  of  the  few  lodging- 
houses  in  the  street  and  through  the  dirty  windows  their 
gaze  also  commanded  the  street. 

These  were,  so  to  speak,  Menzies'  advanced  posts. 
Not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  stationed  in  that  division 
of  the  East  End.  A  divisional  detective,  of  necessity, 
gets  well  known  to  the  criminal  fraternity  of  his  neigh- 
bourhood and  as  facial  disguise  is  more  common  in  novels 
than  in  the  ordinary  routine  of  a  detective's  work,  it 
is  easier  and  safer  to  employ  strangers  in  a  locality 
where  the  presence  of  a  local  police  officer  might  arouse 
undesirable  speculation  or  comment. 

Not  that  the  divisional  detectives  were  idle.     Half-a- 
dozen  or  more  were  wandering  with  apparent  aimless- 
ness  about  the  vicinity,  though  never  by  any  chance' 
showing  in  Levoine  Street  itself.     Yet  it  was  scarcely 
[218] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


likely  that  anyone  leaving  that  thoroughfare  would 
escape  the  notice  of  this  outer  fringe  of  watchers.  That 
was  what  they  were  there  for. 

Twice  that  day  had  Mrs.  Buttle  journeyed  into  the 
main  street — once  to  the  butcher's,  once  to  a  post-office. 
And  each  time,  curiously  enough,  one  of  the  waterside" 
labourers  or  one  of  the  saloon  loafers  had  lounged  in- 
differently in  the  same  direction,  dropping  back  after 
three  or  four  hundred  yards,  while  the  hard-bitten  de- 
tectives of  the  H  division  took  up  the  unobtrusive  escort. 
It  was  monotonous  work.  All  those  taking  part  in  it 
knew  that  their  vigil  might  go  on  for  weeks,  perhaps 
for  months,  and  then  end  without  any  result. 

Meanwhile,  Detective-Sergeant  Congreve  had  routed 
out  a  colleague  in  the  division  and  was  more  actively 
engaged.  Together  they  walked  along  the  Commercial 
Road  until  they  reached  a  corner  shop.  The  lower  half 
of  the  big  plate  glass  windows  had  been  blackened  and 
staring  white  letters  announced 

DR.  KARL  STEINGURT. 

Dispensary.     Hours  8  till  10  A.M.     7  till  9  P.M. 

The  pair  pushed  their  way  into  the  room — bare  save 
for  a  cupboard  and  table  and  a  series  of  hard  wooden 
forms.  Women  crowded  the  latter,  some  with  children, 
some  without,  and  a  shrill  clatter  of  tongues  died  away 
for  the  instant  as  they  took  stock  of  the  newcomers. 

[219] 


An  anaemic  young  man  busy  juggling  with  bottles  and 
pill  boxes  nodded  abruptly  to  the  vacant  end  of  a  bench. 

"  Y3  want  the  doctor?  Sit  down  there  and  take  your 
turn."  He  returned  to  his  dispensing.  "  That'll  be 
thruppence,  Mrs.  Isaacs — to  be  taken  as  before.  Eh? 
No,  you  know  very  well  what  the  rules  are.  If  you  ain't 
got  the  money  you  shouldn't  have  come.  Now  who's 
next?  Don't  you  hear  the  doctor  calling?  " 

Indeed,  a  querulous  guttural  voice  from  the  top  of 
the  stairs  which  led  out  of  the  dispensary  was  shouting 
fiercely  and  two  or  three  women  pushed  forward.  The 
anaemic  dispenser  shrilly  demanded  quiet — an  order  of 
which  not  the  slightest  notice  was  taken.  The  argu- 
ment as  to  precedence  threatened  to  develop  to  physical 
violence  and  Congreve's  colleague  stepped  forward  and 
took  hold  on  the  dispenser's  thin  arm. 

"  That  Dr.  Steingurt  upstairs?  "  he  demanded. 

"Why  the  blazes  don't  you  go  and  sit  down?"  de- 
manded the  assistant,  feebly  wrathful.  "  He  can't  see 
j*  all  at  once,  now  can  he?  'Ere,  let  go  my  arm." 

"  It's  Mr.  Hugh — a  rozzer,"  said  someone,  and  the 
tumult  stilled.  The  assistant  lost  his  air  of  authority 
as  a  pricked  toy  balloon  collapses.  "  Say,  you  can  see 
the  boss  is  busy.  Won't  I  do?  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  You  won't  do,  son,"  said  Hugh.  "  We're  going 
right  up  to  the  doctor  now  and  you'll  have  to  get  these 
ladies  to  excuse  him  five  minutes." 

Congreve  meanwhile  had  pushed  himself  to  the  stairs. 
[220] 


Hugh  followed.  A  dozen  steps  brought  them  to  the 
consulting-room  and  face  to  face  with  a  swarthy  little 
man  in  a  frock  coat  and  dirty  linen.  Heavy  circular 
spectacles  gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  owl. 

"Doctor  Steingurt?  "  asked  Congreve.  Hugh  had 
softly  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

The  doctor  glanced  at  them  through  his  gold-rimmed 
spectacles.  "  Vot's  the  matter  with  you,  eh?"  he  de- 
manded briskly.  "  Speak  up,  now.  You  see  I  haf  a 
lot  of  people  waiting  and  as  I  only  charge  six- 
pence  " 

Hugh  muttered  something  below  his  breath.  Con- 
greve cut  in.  "  We're  not  patients.  You'll  have  to 
give  us  a  little  of  your  attention  without  any  fee  this 
time,  doctor.  We're  police  officers." 

"  Id  is  most  ungonvenient  that  you  come  at  this 
time,"  protested  Steingurt,  "  I  told  the  goroner  " — he 
waved  flabby  hands  at  them — "  that  I  should  not  gome 
again.  I  was  legal — oh,  I  know  the  law.  I  am  not  a 
jarity.  The  child  would  have  died  anyway  and  the  man 
which  called  me  didn't  haf  my  fee.  Why  should  I  gif 
up  a  night's  rest  for  nothing?  Dere  is  the  hospital  for 
paupers."  He  grew  more  excited.  "  I  tell  you  I  vill 
not  gome  to  that  goroner's  court  any  more.  I  will  see 
my  solicitor.  I  will  not  gome." 

Both  detectives  remembered  the  standing  feud  be- 
tween the  coroner  of  the  district  and  Steingurt. 

"  It  is  most  highly  ingonvenient,"  he  repeated,  "  to 


THE    MAELSTROM 


come  in  my  gonsultation  hours  and  drag  me  down  to 
that  nasty  court  youst  to  talk  nonsense.'* 

"  Steady,  doctor,"  remonstrated  Congreve.  "  We've 
nothing  to  do  with  that.  You  were  called  out  last 
night- — or  rather  this  morning.  That's  what  we  want 
to  talk  about." 

Steingurt  blinked  behind  his  spectacles.  "  I  am  al- 
ways being  galled  out.  I  will  look  at  my  book  if  you 
like.  Dere  iss  nothing  wrong?  " 

"  We'll  know  that  when  you've  told  us,"  said  Con- 
greve sharply.  "  You  went  to  Levoine  Street.  Who 
did  you  see?  Why  were  you  called?  " 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Steingurt.  "It  was  a  little 
girl — a  bad  case  of  diphtheria." 

"  Really !  "  The  detective's  voice  was  silky.  "  And 
how  much  were  you  paid  to  keep  your  mouth  shut?  " 

The  doctor  glared  at  him  and  suddenly  advancing  a 
step  shook  a  fist  in  his  face.  Congreve  delicately  ex- 
tended the  tips  of  his  fingers  and  touching  the  other's 
chest  pushed  him  backwards. 

"  This  is  a  gonspiracy  to  insult  me,"  protested  Stein- 
gurt. "  I  don't  believe  you  are  police  officers.  You 
had  bedder  go  or  I  will  have  you  thrown  out." 

"  Was  it  ten  pounds  or  twenty?  "  persisted  Congreve 
steadily.  "  It  looks  to  me  as  if  you  knew  there  was 
something  fishy  on  or  you  wouldn't  be  so  unwilling  to 
talk." 

"  I  gannot  talk  about  my  patients.  It  is  profes- 
[222] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


sional  eddiquet — you  know  very  well."  Steingurt 
seemed  to  have  lost  a  little  of  his  confidence.  "  You've 
got  no  right  to  question  me." 

"  Just  you  listen  to  me,  doctor."  Hugh,  big,  over- 
bearing, threatening,  pushed  his  way  into  the  dialogue. 
"  We  know  all  about  professional  etiquette,  but  we  know 
a  lot  more  about  crooks — and  those  who  get  mixed  up 
with  them.  Savvy?  We  ain't  here  for  lip-trap  so  don't 
you  try  us  too  far.  Suppose  we  take  him  along  on 
suspicion — eh,  Congreve?  " 

Hugh  was  admirably  suited  for  his  work  in  the  East 
End — big,  absolutely  fearless,  direct.  He  knew  exactly 
when  to  adopt  the  customs  and  language  of  his  surround- 
ings and  his  peremptory  air  had  its  effect. 

Steingurt  became  civil.  "  If  you  will  sit  down,  gen- 
tlemen, I  will  tell  my  assistant  we  mustn't  be  disturbed." 

"  That's  sensible,"  said  Congreve. 

The  doctor  gave  his  orders  and  returned  thought- 
fully. "  You  know  this  neighbourhood,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  a  busy  man — very  busy.  I  gan't  enquire  into  the 
moral  character  of  everybody  who  gomes  for  me, 
can  I?  It's  a  big  bractice,  gentlemen — one  of  the  big- 
gest in  the  world.  And  every  night  I  get  waked  up. 
Last  night  it  was  an  old  woman — and  she  rings  and 
knocks.  I  was  afraid  she  would  have  the  place  down. 
I  told  her  to  go  away.  '  You're  wanted,'  she  says.  *  I'll 
keep  on  ringing  till  I  bring  you  down.  I  want  to  talk 

[223] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


to  you.  It  will  be  worth  your  while.'  So  I  went  down 
and  opened  the  door  on  the  chain. 

"  '  You  must  gome  along  with  me  at  once,'  she  says. 
'  Don't  stand  there  gibbering  like  a  monkey,  but  get 
some  clothes  on  and  gome.'  She  pushed  a  folded  bank- 
note through  the  door  and  when  I  opened  id,  id  was  for 
five  pounds.  *  There's  four  more  of  those  flimsies  wait- 
ing for  you,'  she  says,  '  if  you  hurry  up  and  come  and 
keep  your  jaw  shut.'  *  Where  to?'  I  asked.  'Never 
mind,'  she  says.  '  Are  you  goming  or  must  I  get  some- 
one else  ?  ' 

"  So,  of  gorse,  gentlemen,  twenty-five  pounds  is 
twenty-five  pounds.  So  I  went.  The  woman  she  said 
nothing  of  where  we  were  going,  bud  I  knew  the  dis- 
trict. She  took  me  along  to  Levoine  Street  and  let  me 
in  to  one  of  the  houses  with  a  latch  key.  '  There's  a 
man  fell  downstairs  and  hurt  himself,'  she  says.  '  I'm 
afraid  it's  concussion.'  I  wondered  what  she  knew  of 
concussion,  but  I  says  nothing  and  she  dakes  me  up- 
stairs. There  was  a  man  there.  He'd  hurt  himself 
pretty  much,  but  it  wasn't  concussion,  and  when  I'd 
bandaged  him  up  I  told  her  he'd  be  all  right  if  he  was 
allowed  to  lie  still  for  an  hour  or  two.  She  says  sharply, 
*  Very  well,  then,  that's  all  right,'  and  counts  out  the 
other  five-pound  notes  and  gives  them  to  me.  '  You'll 
forget  you've  been  here  ?  '  she  says  and  I  told  her  I 
would.  '  Not  that  anyone's  likely  to  ask,'  she  goes  on. 

"  And  then,  when  she  was  bringing  me  down,  she  says, 


THE    MAELSTROM 


*  While  you're  here  there's  someone  else  you  might  look 
at,'  and  she  knocked  at  a  door  and  called  out.  A  young 
lady  answered  it — a  real  young  lady — not  a  girl  like 
you  mostly  see  around  here.  The  old  woman  says  some- 
thing to  her  that  I  couldn't  catch  and  I  went  in.  There 
was  a  young  man  lying  on  a  pallet  in  a  corner.  *  What's 
the  madder  with  him  ?  '  I  asked.  '  God  fooling  round 
with  a  knife  or  something  and  hurt  himself,'  said  the  old 
woman.  The  girl  didn't  say  anything  and  I  could  un- 
derstand I  wasn't  expected  to  ask  questions.  The  man 
was  pretty  done  up  with  a  knife  wound  and  it  looked 
like  touch  and  go  with  him.  There  was  a  fever  on  him. 
So  I  did  what  I  could  for  him  and  the  old  woman  volun- 
teered to  come  and  fetch  some  medicine.  There,  now, 
you've  got  the  honest  truth,  gentlemen." 

"Didn't  it  strike  you,"  said  Hugh  slowly,  "that 
when  you  find  a  man  with  a  knife  thrust  and  another 
with  something  like  concussion — both  accidents — that 
you  ought  to  have  told  the  police?  How  do  you  know 
one  of  'em  ain't  died?  " 

"  It  was  none  of  my  business,"  protested  Steingurt. 
"  I  was  paid  as  a  medical  attendant,  nod  as  a  detec- 
tive." 

"  Are  you  likely  to  be  going  back  there  again  ?  " 
asked  Congreve. 

Steingurt  shook  his  head.  "  Not  unless  they  send  for 
me." 

"  It  was  dark  when  you  were  called  out.  Do  you 
[225] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


think  any  of  those  people  would  recognise  you  again  ?  " 

The  doctor  was  doubtful. 

"  Would  you  recognise  any  of  them?  Give  us  a  de- 
scription." 

Although  the  officers  painstakingly  took  down  the 
descriptions  it  was  plainly  useless.  The  ordinary  per- 
son is  always  at  a  loss  in  attempting  a  portrait. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  doctor,"  said  Congreve.  "  We  may 
call  again  later  on." 

Outside  Congreve  hustled  his  companion  along  the 
wet  pavement.  "  Come  along,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to 
telephone  to  Mr.  Menzies.  I've  got  an  idea." 


[  226  J 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ALTHOUGH  his  right  arm  hung  limp  and  the  set  of  his 
well-cut  morning  coat  was  somewhat  spoilt  by  the  bulge 
of  the  bandages  on  his  shoulder  Cincinnati  Red  looked 
almost  as  spruce  and  debonair  as  ever.  He  listened  with 
immobile  face  to  Menzies'  expression  of  sympathy. 

"  I'm  right  sorry,"  the  detective  was  saying.  "  It 
was  hard  luck  on  you.  You  didn't  guess  he  was  wise 
to  the  gag  or  it  might  have  been  different.  I'd  back 
you  against  Ling  every  time." 

A  whimsical,  humourous  smile  lighted  Cincinnati's 
features.  "  I  get  you,"  he  drawled.  "  You're  handing 
out  a  soothing  syrup  dope.  I'm  on  to  those  curves. 
What  you  giving  me?  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  another  cut  at  Ling?  " 

The  "  con  "  man  drew  his  shaggy  brows  together  and 
observed  Menzies  narrowly.  "  Will  a  duck  swim?  Wait 
till  my  shoulder  gets  well.  If  you're  driving  at  some 
more  stool-pigeon  business  I'm  not  hankering  after  it, 
but  I  might  be  tempted — if  it  sounded  good." 

"  Well,"  Menzies  crossed  his  knees  and  passed  the 
cigar  box,  "  we've  got  Ling  located  to  an  extent. 
You'll  be  pleased  to  learn  that  he  found  a  rough  house 
after  he  gave  us  his  little  show.  He  got  manhandled 
at  a  place  in  Shadwell  and  they  had  to  have  a  doctor." 

Cincinnati   rubbed  his   hands.      "  That's  all  to   the 


THE    MAELSTROM 


good,  chief.     Say,  I'd  like  to  buy  the  guy  who  did  it 
something." 

"  It  was  only  a  knockout,"  explained  Menzies,  "  and 
we  unluckily  did  not  get  on  to  it  till  this  morning.  We 
believe  he  got  away  in  the  night,  but  we're  not  dead 
sure.  Anyway  he  can't  be  far  from  the  house  we've 
located  and  we  know  there  are  some  other  toughs  in  it. 
Would  you  care  to  call  on  the  house  and  see  who's 
there?  There'll  probably  be  someone  who  knows  you 
and  you'll  be  all  right." 

"  Yep,"  said  the  other  crisply.  "  Likely  thing. 
What  chance  would  I  stand  walking  into  a  wasps'  nest 
like  that?  It's  no  bet.  Call  it  off." 

"  Why  I  didn't  think  there  was  a  yellow  streak  in 
you,  Cincinnati,"  said  Menzies.  "  I  wouldn't  ask  you 
to  do  it  if  I  thought  there  was  any  danger.  There'll 
be  plenty  of  my  people  on  hand,  and  you're  not  likely 
to  get  into  any  trouble.  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  Ling  had 
slipped  out.  I'd  go  myself  or  get  one  of  my  chaps  only 
it  would  be  better  if  it  wasn't  a  stranger.  I'm  asking  it 
as  a  favour." 

The  "  con  "  man  stroked  his  moustache  in  irresolution. 
He  was  really  bitter  about  Ling  and  would  cheerfully 
have  contributed  any  effort  that  would  add  to  the  dis- 
comfort or  peril  of  his  erstwhile  colleague — so  long  as 
he  ran  no  avoidable  hazard  himself.  He  was  under  no 
illusions  in  regard  to  Menzies'  efforts  to  persuade  him. 
He  knew  that  the  chief  inspector  had  little  bias  towards 

[228] 


him — that  he  regarded  him  merely  as  a  crook — a  crook 
who  happened  to  be  useful  and  who  might  be  coaxed  into 
helping  the  law  by  fulfilling  an  instinct  of  revenge.  Not 
that  he  had  any  compunction  as  to  paying  off  old  scores 
that  way.  It  was  just  the  question  of  risk. 

"  You'll  let  me  have  a  gun,  of  course?  "  he  asked. 

Menzies  shook  his  head.  To  use  Cincinnati  to  achieve 
a  purpose  was  all  very  well.  But  a  gun  in  the  hands 
of  a  revengeful  man  backed  by  the  semi-authority  of  the 
police  was  quite  a  different  thing. 

"  There  won't  be  any  need  for  a  gun,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  be  at  hand  if  there  is  any  trouble — but  there 
won't  be  any  if  you  handle  the  job  tactfully.  Not  that 
I  wouldn't  let  you  have  a  gun  if  I  had  my  own  way,  but 
you  know  how  I'm  tied  down.  Well,  shall  we  consider 
it  settled?  I  won't  forget  you  acted  like  a  white  man, 
laddie — some  other  time." 

After  all,  reflected  Cincinnati,  there  was  no  reason 
why  he  shouldn't  chance  it.  It  would  put  him  right  with 
the  police  and  very  likely,  as  Menzies  said,  there  would 
be  no  fuss.  Until  his  shoulder  healed  there  would  be 
little  card-playing  at  his  flat  and  if  he  refused  the 
police  would  probably  become  unduly  attentive  to  any 
other  enterprise  in  which  he  might  embark. 

"  I'm  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  Good  for  you,  Cincinnati,"  exclaimed  Menzies.  "  I 
guessed  you  would.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  having 
some  clothes  got  ready  for  you.  You  can't  trail  the 

[229] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


East  End  in  glad  rags,  you  know.  If  they're  not  your 
usual  fit  so  much  the  better." 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  five.  "  I'll 
have  those  things  sent  in  to  you,"  he  went  on.  "  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute." 

He  was  whistling  softly  as  he  passed  along  the  cor- 
ridor. He  paused  to  tap  at  Foyle's  door  and  to  poke  his 
head  inside.  "  All  fixed  up,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I'm  going 
to  rout  out  those  men  you  promised  me." 

As  he  closed  the  door  a  man  touched  him  on  the 
sleeve.  He  raised  his  eyebrows  in  question  as  he  saw 
a  brown-faced,  silk -hatted  man  of  medium  size  in  a  much 
worn  frock  coat.  Then  recognition  came  to  him. 
"  Why,  it's  you,  Congreve.  They've  done  you  well. 
How's  the  likeness?  " 

"  It's  fair,  sir,"  said  Congreve  complacently.  "  In  a 
bad  light  with  anyone  who  doesn't  know  Steingurt  well 
I'm  likely  to  pass.  Of  course,  I'm  a  bigger  man,  and  as 
I  hadn't  a  photograph  I  had  to  explain  to  Clarkson's 
people  what  to  do  as  they  went  along." 

"  Makes  you  feel  like  a  detective  hero  in  a  novel, 
doesn't  it?" 

"  More  like  amateur  theatricals,"  grinned  the 
other.  "  I  feel  like  the  late  lamented  Guy  Fawkes, 
and  I'm  in  deadly  fear  lest  my  moustache  should 
fall  off." 

The  chief  inspector  became  business-like.  "  I  don't 
need  to  tell  you,  Congreve,  that  it  isn't  any  private 

[230] 


theatricals.  Start  the  boys  off  for  me,  will  you.  Thejr 
can  report  at  Shadwell  till  they're  wanted." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Congreve. 

Night  had  long  fallen  when  Menzies  and  Cincinnati 
Red  emerged  from  the  underground  station  at  Shadwell 
and,  with  coat  collars  well  turned  up,  struck  off  briskly 
through  the  driving  rain  in  the  direction  of  Levoine 
Street,  They  spoke  little.  The  chief  inspector  paused 
at  last  and  nodded  towards  a  shambling  figure  that  was 
hurrying  a  dozen  paces  in  front  of  them. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  that  chap,"  he  said.  "  He'll  give 
you  the  office  when  you  get  to  the  house.  Remember 
not  to  make  any  trouble  if  you  can  help  it.  We  just 
want  to  know  what's  doing." 

"  I  get  you,"  muttered  Cincinnati — and  found  that 
he  was  addressing  nothingness.  For  a  substantial 
churchwarden  Weir  Menzies  had  an  astonishing  faculty 
on  occasions  of  obliterating  himself. 

Yet  he  was  nevertheless  keeping  a  keen  vigil  on  the 
"  con  "  man.  It  was  as  well  to  be  sure  and  Cincinnati's 
heart  might  yet  fail  him. 

He  emerged  into  visibility  again  under  the  light  of 
the  corner  public-house  in  Levoine  Street.  The  two 
loafers  were  still  at  their  everlasting  game  of  dominoes 
and  one  turned  an  incautious  look  upon  him.  Menzies 
was  fumbling  with  his  shoelace.  He  saw  the  "  con  " 
man's  guide  trip  and  lurch  heavily  opposite  one  of  the 
houses.  A  moment  later  Cincinnati  was  rapping  at  the 

[231] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


door.  It  opened  at  last  and  he  stood  in  colloquy  with 
someone  unseen  for  a  while.  Then  he  stepped  inside  and 
the  door  closed. 

The  chief  inspector  walked  to  the  private  bar  and 
ordered  a  Scotch  and  soda,  which  he  drank  slowly.  Once 
he  looked  at  his  watch  and  answered  absently  the  bar- 
man's comment  on  the  weather.  In  Magersfontein  Road, 
Upper  Tooting,  the  apathy  of  one  of  its  prominent  hor- 
ticulturists to  weather  conditions  might  have  been  set 
down  as  an  affected  eccentricity.  Something  worse 
might  have  been  thought  of  a  churchwarden  who,  with 
bowler  hat  tilted  at  the  back  of  his  head,  stood  sipping 
whisky  and  soda  at  the  bar  of  the  low  class  East  End 
public-house.  But  Menzies  had  forgotten  that  he  was 
either  a  churchwarden  or  a  gardener. 

Twice  more  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  a  slight  frown 
bit  into  his  forehead.  Never  too  ready  to  put  implicit 
confidence  in  a  crook,  he  was  wondering  if  Cincinnati  had 
put  the  double  cross  on  him. 

There  was  in  point  of  fact  no  justification  for  these 
doubts.  Cincinnati  Red  was  feeling  too  sore  with  Ling 
to  dream  of  playing  false  with  the  police.  The  door  had 
been  opened  to  him  by  no  other  than  Mrs.  Buttle  her- 
self, who  stood  determinedly  in  the  doorway  and  scru- 
tinised him  with  a  stare  in  which  there  was  no  recogni- 
tion. 

"  Well?  "  she  demanded  with  some  asperity  and  an 
unnecessary  loudness.  "What  do  you  want?  " 

[232] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Cincinnati  smiled  pleasantly  upon  her  and  leaning 
forward  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "  Is  Mr.  Ling  in?  No, 
no  " — he  raised  a  deprecating  hand  as  he  saw  a  denial 
forming  on  her  lips.  "  I'm  a  pal  of  his.  You  tell  him 
that  Cincinnati  Red  is  here  and  wants  to  pass  him  a 
word.  Say  the  little  trouble  last  night  was  all  a  mis- 
understanding and  I've  come  to  clear  it  up  and  put  him. 
wise  to  one  or  two  things." 

She  appraised  him  grudgingly  for  a  while.  "  I  don't 
know  nothin'  of  any  Ling,"  she  grumbled  loudly.  "  I'm 
a  honest,  'ard-workin'  woman  and  I  ain't  no  use  for 
blokes  what  comes  talking  riddles  to  me." 

She  made  as  if  to  close  the  door  and  for  the  fraction 
of  a  second  her  face  was  under  the  full  rays  of  the 
street  lamp.  His  foot  strayed  absently  over  the  lintel. 
It  was  part  of  his  profession  to  be  a  shrewd  judge  of 
faces  and  in  that  respect  there  were  few  men,  even  at 
the  Yard  itself,  who  could  have  taught  him  anything. 

"  So  it's  you,  Gwennie,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  might 
have  guessed  it.  You'd  better  let  me  come  in." 

She  dropped  her  cockney  accent  instantly  and  a  wry 
smile  showed  on  her  face.  "  Yes,  sonny,  it's  me,"  she 
said.  "  How  did  you  get  on  to  it?  " 

"  Your  eyes,"  he  said  succinctly.  "  Can  I  come  in 
now?" 

She  laughed.  "  Say,  don't  you  think  you've  got  a 
gall?  Ling  is  gunning  for  you." 

Cincinnati  went  a  shade  paler.  The  recollection  of 
[233] 


the  detective  cordon  around  the  neighbourhood,  how- 
ever, gave  him  confidence.  He  returned  her  laugh. 
"  I'm  not  a  piker,  Gwennie.  A  little  heart-to-heart  talk 
with  Ling  or  you'll  put  that  all  right.  I  was  run  right 
on  to  it,  Gwennie.  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"  Come  right  in,"  she  said  genially. 

He  followed  her  without  hesitation  and  she  took  him 
up  the  creaking  stairs  into  a  little  unused  room  bare  of 
furniture.  "  How  did  you  know  where  we  were?  "  she 
demanded.  "  Did  Ling  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Sure !  "  he  agreed  nonchalantly  and  instantly  he 
saw  the  trap  into  which  he  had  fallen.  It  was  wildly 
improbable  that  in  the  circumstances  of  their  last  meet- 
ing Ling  would  have  told  him  anything  of  this  retreat. 
It  was  a  mistake  unpardonable  in  a  man  who  made  his 
living  by  his  wits,  but  to  try  to  retrieve  it  would  be  even 
worse. 

"  I'll  go  and  tell  Stewart  you're  here,"  she  said 
swiftly.  "  You  won't  mind  waiting  a  minute." 

He  did  mind.  He  minded  very  much.  Gwennie  Lyne 
was  altogether  too  complacent  in  accepting  his  visit. 
He  knew  that  she  was  certain  that  he  was  playing  the 
game  of  their  antagonists  and  the  thought  of  the  police 
cordon  was  not  quite  so  comforting.  He  had  learned 
part  of  what  he  had  set  out  to  know.  She  was  in  the 
house  and  the  probability  was  that  Ling  was  also.  He 
was  unlikely  to  get  any  further  chances  of  making  sure 
and  he  wished  fervently  that  he  could  see  an  opportunity 


THE     MAELSTROM 


of  carrying  his  information  back  to  Menzies.  Did 
Gwennie  know  or  guess  that  the  place  was  surrounded? 
Did  she  think  that  this  was  merely  a  reconnoitring  ex- 
pedition or  a  reconnaissance  in  force?  He  had  been  a 
fool,  he  reflected,  to  so  weakly  fall  in  with  Weir  Menzies' 
suggestion.  Of  course,  the  police  wouldn't  care  what 
happened  to  him.  They  were  using  him  as  a  cat's-paw 
to  test  the  hot  chestnuts  before  drawing  them  out  of  the 
fire. 

He  had  calculated  on  the  readiness  of  his  wits  to  ex- 
tricate himself  from  any  dilemma  in  which  he  might  find 
himself  placed  and  now  his  blunder  had  exposed  him. 
He  could  only  wait  on  events.  He  assented  quietly  and 
she  left  the  room. 

There  ensued  a  nerve-racking  period  of  waiting.  His 
ears  were  strained  to  catch  the  slightest  sound  and  he 
could  hear  movements  below.  In  that  room  where  he 
could  meet  anyone  who  entered  face  to  face  he  felt  com- 
paratively safe.  But  his  imagination  played  tricks 
when  he  contemplated  the  possibility  of  creeping  down- 
stairs and  so  into  the  open  street.  On  the  dark  stair- 
case or  in  the  gloomy  passage  Ling  might  be  waiting. 
His  nerve  was  going  and  he  dared  not  risk  it.  The 
window  looked  out,  as  far  as  he  could  see  in  the  black- 
ness, on  a  bleak  prospect  of  tiny  back  yards,  and  after 
a  sombre  inspection  he  decided  that  there  was  no  escape 
that  way. 

The  house  grew  unnaturally  quiet  and  his  waning 
[  235  ] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


courage  began  to  return  to  him.  There  was  a  possi- 
bility, after  all,  that  his  former  friends  had  been  as 
badly  scared  by  his  arrival  as  a  spy  as  he  was  by  the 
knowledge  that  they  had  penetrated  his  purpose.  Very 
likely  Gwennie  Lyne  had  left  him  there  while  she  and  her 
confederate  quietly  slipped  away.  If  so,  they  must  have 
already  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  Menzies 
and  his  detectives  would  be  in  the  house  at  any  moment. 

He  picked  a  candle  off  the  mantelpiece  and  opened 
the  door.  At  once  he  became  aware  of  a  determined  and 
incessant  rapping  below.  Somewhere  near  him  he  heard 
eomeone  stir,  and  promptly  blew  out  the  light  and  waited 
with  the  door  an  inch  or  two  open.  There  was  a  swish 
of  skirts  on  the  landing  and  he  heard  light  footsteps 
descend  the  creaky  stairs.  Apparently  the  front  door 
had  been  very  securely  fastened  since  he  had  arrived, 
for  he  heard  the  withdrawing  of  many  bolts  and  the 
rattle  of  a  chain.  Then  a  soft,  guttural  voice. 

"  Goot  evening,  miss.  I  yoost  thought  I  would  come 
along  to  see  how  my  patient  was  brogressing." 


[236] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IT  was  not  exactly  what  Cincinnati  Red  had  expected. 
Nor  did  he  anticipate  the  low,  musical  voice  that  an- 
swered. He  had  assumed  that  Gwennie  Lyne  was  the 
only  woman  in  the  house  and  somewhat  impatiently  he 
waited  for  developments. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  wasn't  expecting  you,  doctor,  but  I  am 
glad  you  called,"  he  heard  someone  saying.  "  Will  you 
come  up?  He  is  asleep." 

He  wedged  himself  against  the  crack  of  the  door. 
Who  was  asleep?  Was  it  Ling?  Why  should  he  need 
a  doctor,  anyway? 

Apart  from  these  problems  he  had  a  sense  of  relief. 
Even  if  any  designs  were  contemplated  against  him  they 
would  scarcely  be  carried  out  with  the  doctor  in  the 
house.  What  was  to  prevent  him  walking  boldly  out 
behind  the  visitor  when  he  went.  He  heard  the  woman 
and  the  man  pass  by  him  on  the  landing.  Then  a  splash 
of  light  showed  that  they  had  entered  the  room  op- 
posite. 

He  crept  gently  out  and  stooped  to  the  keyhole  of 
the  room  into  which  they  had  vanished.  Within  his  line 
of  sight  there  came  a  vision  of  the  back  of  a  frock- 
coated  man  stooping  over  someone  laying  beneath  a 
clutter  of  bedclothes  in  the  corner.  A  girl  was  holding 
a  lamp  to  light  the  doctor's  examination.  Cincinnati 

[237] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


caught  his  breath  as  he  saw  her  features  and  he  remem- 
bered her  as  the  girl  Hallett  had  rushed  from  the  Petit 
Savoy  the  previous  evening. 

The  doctor  stood  up.  "  I  will  not  disturb  him  now," 
he  said.  "  He  seems  fairly  comfortable.  I  will  send 
you  some  different  medicine  presently  with  directions. 
Remember  he  is  not  to  be  moved  on  any  aggount  or  I 
will  nod  answer  for  his  life.  And  now  for  my  other 
patient." 

She  put  down  the  lamp.  Cincinnati  raised  his  head 
and  sniffed  gently,  suspiciously.  "  There  is  no  other 
patient,  doctor,"  she  said.  "  The  gentleman  you  saw 
last  night  is  gone." 

"  Gone."  The  doctor's  voice  held  unmistakable  evi- 
dence of  disappointment.  "He  is  gone?  Where  is  he 
gone  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know.  I  am  only  a 
lodger  here.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Buttle — the  landlady — 
could  tell  you." 

A  vivid  bolt  of  flame  leapt  with  appalling  suddenness 
up  the  stairway,  illumining  the  whole  place  in  a  blaze 
of  light,  and  a  hoarse  cry  came  from  Cincinnati.  He 
pushed  the  door  open  and  flung  himself  in  on  them. 

"  Petrol !  "  he  cried.  "  The  murdering  devils  !  For 
God's  sake  get  out  of  this." 

The  girl  shrank  back  before  the  pallet  as  though  to 
protect  the  man  lying  there.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  in  a 
kind  of  fascinated  terror  on  the  "  con  "  man's  face.  It 

[238] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


was  not  the  fire  that  terrified  her  so  much  as  his  appear- 
ance there.  When  last  they  met  he  had  been  in  associa- 
tion with  the  police. 

"  Go  away,"  she  shrieked.     "  You  shan't  touch  him." 

"  They  have  set  the  place  ablaze,"  he  repeated.  "  We 
are  trapped." 

The  doctor  was  the  only  one  who  seemed  unmoved 
either  by  the  fire  or  by  the  "  con  "  man's  dramatic  ap- 
pearance. "  Don't  be  a  mad  fool,  Cincinnati,"  he  said 
quite  quietly.  "  Here,  stand  aside  and  let's  have  a  look." 

He  pushed  Cincinnati  away  and  glanced  through  the 
open  doorway.  The  smell  of  burning  petrol  was  wafted 
upwards  and  the  first  burst  of  flame  had  given  way  to 
clouds  of  dense  smoke  through  which  he  could  dimly  per- 
ceive many  coloured  flames  devouring  the  woodwork  of 
the  stairs.  The  incendiaries  had  done  their  work  well. 
The  whole  bottom  floor  had  been  set  alight  as  if  by  magic 
and  the  dry,  rotten  flooring  was  blazing  like  tinder. 
Although  it  had  only  been  a  matter  of  a  few  seconds 
since  Cincinnati  Red  had  raised  the  first  alarm  it  was 
already  plainly  impossible  to  reach  the  street  by  the 
stairs. 

The  doctor  closed  the  door  quickly  and  stepped  back, 
removing  his  spectacles  as  he  did  so.  "  The  gov'ner  will 
be  annoyed  about  this,"  he  commented.  "  It's  a  good 
move.  They'll  have  a  fine  chance  to  get  away  in  the 
confusion." 

The  terror  in  Peggy  Greye-Stratton's  eyes  deepened. 

[239] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  You  are  not  the  doctor !  "  she  cried.     "  Are  you — 
detectives  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  police  officer,"  admitted  the  frock-coated 
man.  "  My  name's  Congreve.  My  friend  here  is  not. 
But  don't  you  worry,  miss.  We're  not  going  to  hurt 
you.  Here,  you,  Cincinnati.  Come  along  into  the  front 
room.  We'll  have  to  get  down  through  the  window. 
Someone  in  the  street  will  surely  have  had  the  gumption 
to  get  a  ladder.  Now  don't  you  go  getting  frightened, 
miss.  We'll  have  you  out  of  this  in  two  shakes." 

The  "  con  "  man  and  he  passed  into  the  front  room. 
Peggy  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms. 
Realisation  of  the  peril  she  was  in  from  the  fire  was 
sunk  in  the  more  insistent  dread  for  her  brother  which 
the  unexpected  advent  of  Cincinnati  Red  and  the  calm 
confession  of  identity  made  by  the  disguised  detective 
had  aroused.  Their  presence  had  only  one  meaning  for 
her. 

The  sick  man  raised  himself  on  one  elbow.  "  Peggy," 
he  whispered.  "  Peggy."  His  eyes  were  shining  with 
an  unnatural  light,  but  his  voice  was  quite  normal. 

"Yes?  "she  said. 

"  It's  all  up,  old  girl ;  I've  been  awake  for  the  last 
five  minutes.  That  was  a  detective,  wasn't  it.  And  the 
house  is  afire.  Well,  I'll  take  my  medicine.  I've  been 
a  rotter  and  it's  up  to  me  now  to  do  the  first  decent 
thing  by  you  I've  ever  done.  You  get  along.  I'll  look 
after  myself." 

[240] 


She  laid  a  hand  soothingly  on  his  shoulder  and  held 
herself  under  stern  control.  "  You've  been  dreaming, 
boy,"  she  said  with  a  smile.  "  Lay  down.  Every- 
thing's all  right." 

He  resisted  the  soft  pressure  and  pointed  to  the 
wreaths  of  smoke  now  curling  lazily  under  the  door. 
"  That  isn't  much  of  a  dream,  Peggy.  Better  go.  I 
know  what  I've  got  to  do  and  you'll  only  be  in  the 
way." 

Congreve  poked  his  head  into  the  room.  "  Now 
then,  miss,  here's  a  ladder.  You  first  and  then  we'll  see 
to  your  brother." 

She  held  back.  "  I'll  not  go,"  she  declared.  "  I'll 
not  let  you  arrest  him." 

"  We'll  see  about  that  after  we've  got  you  both  out," 
said  Congreve  gently.  "  Now  come  along  like  a  good 
lass  and  don't  argue." 

"  No." 

It  was  mere  madness,  but  she  was  past  logical  reason- 
ing. Even  the  genial  Congreve  almost  lost  his  temper. 
He  started  forward,  but  before  he  could  reach  her 
Errol  had  risen  from  the  bed.  His  face  was  grey  and 
drawn  with  pain,  and  those  unnaturally  bright  eyes 
shone  fiercely  out  of  their  sunken  pits. 

"  Do  as  the  man  tells  you,"  he  said,  and  added  an 
oath.  Excitement  seemed  to  have  lent  him  strength. 
With  a  quick  movement  he  lifted  her  bodily  and  stag- 
[241  ] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


gered  with  her  towards  Congreve.  "  Take  her,"  he  said 
curtly. 

In  her  brother's  hands  she  had  been  almost  passive 
but  as  she  passed  to  the  detective  she  struggled  like  a 
wild  thing.  It  was  all  that  he,  who  was  a 
man  of  no  mean  physical  strength,  could  do  to  hold 
her.  He  had  to  call  Cincinnati  Red  to  his  aid  before 
he  could  get  her  across  the  outside  room  to  the 
window. 

"  Steady,  miss,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  You  don't 
want  to  be  burnt  alive,  do  you?  " 

She  paid  no  heed.  All  her  efforts  were  concentrated 
on  the  one  purpose — to  free  herself  and  stand  between 
her  brother  and  the  danger  of  arrest.  She  saw  nothing 
except  that  all  she  had  done  and  suffered  during  the 
last  few  days  had  been  for  nothing. 

A  low  cry  went  up  from  the  crowd  that  had  already 
assembled  outside  the  burning  house  as  they  appeared 
at  the  window.  The  fire  engines  were  dashing  up.  The 
two  men  placed  her  down  for  an  instant  and  she  made 
one  final  effort  to  break  away. 

"  Of  all  the  silly  women,"  muttered  Cincinnati  ir- 
ritably. 

The  window  was  open  and  a  head  now  appeared  at 
it.  Peggy  felt  herself  abruptly  swung  off  her  feet 
again  and  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  it  she  was  in 
the  street  and  half  a  dozen  men  were  moving  her  swiftly 
away.  Cincinnati  had  followed  her  down  the  ladder 


THE     MAELSTROM 


and  he  gave  a  great  breath  of  relief  as  he  found  himself 
once  more  in  the  open  air. 

Congreve  had  returned  to  the  door  of  the  inner  room, 
which  had  swung  to.  He  tried  to  push  it  open  with  his 
foot,  but  to  his  surprise  it  resisted  the  pressure.  "  Now 
then,  Errol,"  he  shouted.  "  Come  on.  It's  your  turn. 
Open  the  door.  It's  caught." 

The  voice  that  replied  was  muffled,  but  it  had  a  note 
of  determination.  "  It's  not  caught.  Look  after  your- 
self, Mr.  Policeman.  I'm  going  to  take  my  chance. 
You  don't  lay  your  hooks  on  me." 

The  burly  figure  of  Menzies  squirmed  its  way  through 
the  window  and  a.  couple  of  helmeted  firemen  followed. 
"  Hullo,  Congreve,"  he  said  casually.  "  Here's  a  fine 
old  mess.  What's  wrong?  " 

His  subordinate  jerked  a  thumb  towards  the  door. 
"  Errol  in  there,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Door  locked.  He 
won't  come  out." 

The  chief  inspector  raised  his  boot  and  smashed 
with  the  heel  against  the  panels.  A  mocking  laugh 
came  from  the  interior.  "  Don't  do  that  again,"  said 
Errol.  "  I've  an  eight-shot  automatic  here.  Don't 
you  run  away  with  the  delusion  that  you're  going  to 
take  me." 

"  The  deuce  you  have,  laddie,"  muttered  Menzies. 
"  Here,"  he  wheeled  on  one  of  the  firemen,  "  lend  me 
your  axe.  Pass  the  word  to  your  people  to  send  up 
a  length  of  hose.  Congreve,  you  get  out  of  this." 

[243] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


He  struck  with  the  axe  at  one  of  the  panels,  and  as 
the  wood  smashed  and  splintered  the  thudding  report  of 
an  automatic  answered  and  an  irregular  hole  showed  a 
few  inches  from  where  he  had  hit.  He  moved  quickly 
back  out  of  the  line  of  fire. 

"  He  means  business,  sir,"  said  Congreve,  who,  for 
once,  had  disobeyed  an  order.  "  You'll  never  be  able 
to  make  a  hole  to  turn  the  hose  on  him.  We  can't  save 
him  if  he  won't  be  saved." 

Menzies  made  a  helpless  gesture.  "  Hang  it  all,  man, 
we've  got  to  get  him.  He's  part  of  my  evidence."  He 
turned  to  one  of  the  firemen.  "  What  are  the  chances 
of  getting  the  fire  under?  " 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  chief  might 
be  able  to  tell  you.  I  don't  reckon  we'll  do  much  my- 
self. There's  gallons  of  petrol  been  used  and  you  can't 
put  that  out  with  water." 

The  brow  of  the  chief  inspector  furrowed.  On  a 
larger  scale  he  was  faced  with  a  similar  problem  to  that 
which  is  dealt  with  almost  every  day  by  the  huge  police- 
man with  a  small  but  obstreperous  drunken  prisoner. 
The  policeman  gets  the  aid  of  other  constables  as  large 
as  himself,  not  because  he  cannot  manage  by  himself  but 
because  he  might  harm  the  man  in  custody  did  he  exert 
his  full  strength. 

Only  by  violence  could  Errol  be  saved,  but  the 
probabilities  were  that  in  making  the  attempt  several 
other  lives  would  be  sacrificed.  Menzies  had  no  doubt 


THE     MAELSTROM 


that  any  of  his  men  would  risk  that  eight-shot  auto- 
matic, if  need  be,  purely  as  a  matter  of  course.  He, 
himself,  for  that  matter,  was  willing  to  take  his 
chance,  but  his  sober  common  sense  told  him  it  wouldn't 
do. 

He  climbed  down  into  the  street  and  engaged  the 
divisional  officer  of  the  fire-brigade — a  heavy- jawed 
young  man  in  sea  boots,  his  face  begrimed  and  blood- 
shot. 

"  Suffering  snakes  !  "  ejaculated  that  individual  when 
the  position  had  been  made  clear  to  him.  "  I  don't  see 
what  we  can  do.  If  there's  a  madman  with  a  shooter 
locked  in  the  first  room  it's  for  you  police  to  deal  with 
him.  Our  job's  putting  out  the  fire  and  I  don't  see  that 
we  can  save  the  place  anyway.  All  we  can  do  is  to 
prevent  it  spreading.  I've  been  in  there  " — he  nodded 
towards  the  door  out  of  which  a  thick  volume  of  smoke 
was  emerging — "  and  I  tell  you  they  haven't  spared  the 
petrol.  The  house  is  doomed,  Mr.  Menzies,  and  if  your 
pal  is  going  to  shoot  anybody  who  tries  to  get  at  him 
he  can  roast  for  me." 

The  detective  concealed  his  annoyance.  In  the  fire- 
man's place  he  would  have  felt  the  same.  He  would 
have  to  count  Errol  out  of  the  game.  He  dismissed 
him  from  his  mind  for  a  moment  and  put  another  en- 
quiry. The  divisional  officer  nodded  his  head  ener- 
getically. 

"  That's  so.  That's  so.  Who  ever  set  it  alight  knew 
[245] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


what  they  were  doing.  It  could  have  all  been  done  in 
three  minutes  or  less.  As  far  as  I  could  see  this  is  what 
happened.  It's  partly  a  guess,  mind.  Some  old  clothes 
were  soaked  with  petrol  and  thrown  or  placed  on  the 
stairs  and  at  the  bottom.  A  washbowl  full  of  petrol 
was  placed  at  the  bottom  and  others  with  petrol  in  some 
of  the  rooms.  Some  tape  was  soaked  in  paraffine  and 
laid  from  one  to  the  other.  A  length  carried  to  one  of 
the  windows  and  a  match  applied  to  it  from  outside 
would  have  set  the  whole  place  ablaze  in  ten  seconds." 
He  broke  off  to  shout  a  curt  order  and  Menzies,  with 
a  word  of  thanks,  moved  away. 

The  fire  had  interfered  with  some  of  his  arrangements 
but  he  had  by  no  means  given  up  hope  of  laying  his 
hands  on  Gwennie  Lyne  and  Ling  and  their  confederates 
that  night.  He  was  playing  against  astute  antagonists 
who  were  bound  by  no  rules  and  who  had  the  advantage 
of  working  on  the  defensive.  He  appreciated  the  sig- 
nificance of  their  move  and  lost  not  a  moment  in  attempt- 
ing to  counter  it. 

Orders  were  given  that  no  man  was  to  approach  the 
fire  and,  getting  on  to  the  telephone,  he  sent  a  hurried 
explanation  of  the  new  development  to  the  headquarters 
station  of  the  division.  To  the  subdivisional  inspector 
of  the  uniformed  branch  who  had  been  lurking  quietly 
in  the  vicinity  and  now  came  at  a  run  with  his  whistle 
between  his  teeth,  he  had  outlined  certain  ideas,  and  at 
each  end  of  Levoine  Street  detachments  of  constables  had 


THE    MAELSTROM 


sprung  up  as  if  by  magic  and  were  lined  across  the 
street. 

All  thoroughfares  that  entered  Levoine  Street  were 
similarly  guarded  and  no  one  except  police  officials  and 
firemen  were  to  be  allowed  to  approach  nearer  than  sev- 
eral hundred  yards.  Above  all,  no  one  was  to  leave  the 
street.  Menzies  had  determined  that  he  would  not  allow 
his  purpose  to  be  rendered  impossible  by  the  collection 
of  a  big  crowd.  It  was  inevitable  that  there  should  be 
some  sort  of  gathering,  for  within  the  cleared  area  there 
were  two  hundred  or  more  houses,  nearly  all  of  which 
were  human  ant-heaps.  But  that  could  not  be  helped. 
In  any  case  he  had  determined  to  sift  the  collection 
individual  by  individual  if  necessary. 

Within  half  an  hour  he  had  been  promised  reinforce- 
ments of  two  hundred  constables — more  than  sufficient 
to  maintain  clear  the  area  in  which  search  was  to  take 
place.  More  than  that,  every  detective  in  London  who 
could  be  spared  at  short  notice  was  hurrying  to  the 
spot. 

He  told  himself  that  all  that  was  possible  had  been 
done,  yet  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  in 
spite  of  all  the  resources  of  intricate  organisation  the 
odds  were  against  him. 

The  double  row  of  police  at  the  end  of  the  street 
opened  and  a  motor-car  pushed  through  and  ran  silently 
to  a  standstill.  He  recognised  Helden  Foyle  and  one 
or  two  of  the  high  administrative  officials  at  Scotland 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Yard.    To  them  he  briefly  outlined  what  had  occurred. 

"  There  were  plenty  of  men  who'd  have  volunteered 
to  fetch  Errol  out,"  he  added,  "  but  I  didn't  feel  justi- 
fied in  letting  'em  take  the  risk." 

"  You  were  right,  Menzies,"  agreed  the  superin- 
tendent. "  There'd  have  been  the  deuce  of  a  howl  if 
any  lives  had  been  thrown  away  like  that.  Nothing 
can  be  done  but  let  the  fire  burn  out.  You've  lost  Errol, 
anyway.  I  guess  you  did  right  in  having  the  streets 
blocked." 

"  No  need  for  secrecy  now  so  far  as  Ling  is  con- 
cerned," commented  Menzies.  "  Instead  of  making  a 
quiet  house-to-house  search  it  will  have  to  be  done  pretty 
publicly.  That's  why  I  wanted  more  men.  As  soon 
as  the  fire's  over  and  the  excitement  died  down  a  bit  I*m 
going  through  this  district  with  a  fine-tooth  comb." 

"  Miss  Greye-Stratton  ?  "  said  Foyle  interrogatively. 

"Yes,  I've  thought  of  her.  She's  in  the  'Three 
Kings  '  at  the  corner  there  " — he  indicated  the  public- 
house — "  for  the  time  being.  Half  off  her  head.  We 
may  surprise  something  out  of  her  presently  or  she  may 
talk  of  her  own  accord.  Errol  being  out  of  it  may 
make  a  difference,  but  I've  sent  to  Royal  to  bring  up 
Jimmie  Hallett." 

Foyle  blinked.  "  Can't  seem  to  keep  him  out  of  it," 
he  laughed.  He  dug  one  forefinger  into  the  chief  in- 
spector's rotund  waist.  "  You  infernal  old  match- 
maker," he  said. 

[248] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


A  sharp  cry  and  a  confusion  of  orders  came  from 
the  firemen.  Brass  helmets  clanked  and  dodged  ludi- 
crously away  from  the  burning  house.  The  roof  col- 
lapsed like  cardboard  and  a  shower  of  sparks  flew 
upwards. 

"  Exit  Errol,"  said  Helden  Foyle  calmly. 


[240] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

LIKE  most  detectives  of  experience  Weir  Menzies  had  a 
certain  cynical  outlook  on  life.  Yet  at  heart  he  had 
most  of  the  domestic  virtues.  Still  it  was  part  of  his 
professional  code  to  use  every  possible  means — which 
included  every  possible  person — to  achieve  his  ends. 

He  slipped  his  arm  in  friendly  fashion  through  that 
of  Jimmie  Hallett,  when  that  young  man  turned  up  in 
a  taxi-cab,  accompanied  by  the  watchful  Royal. 

"  We're  on  the  same  side  of  the  game  at  last,  my 
boy,"  he  said  genially.  "  I  knew  you'd  hate  to  be  out 
of  this  show  and  so  I  sent  for  you.  Errol's  done  for." 

"  So  Royal  told  me,"  said  Jimmie  coldly.  "  You've 
got  a  knack  of  mucking  things  up,  Menzies." 

The  chief  inspector  accepted  the  gibe.  "  I'm  not  one 
of  those  omniscient  amateur  detectives,"  he  said  placidly. 
"  Don't  bear  malice,  Hallett.  You'll  own  you  played 
me  up  a  bit  before  I  started  to  get  my  own  back.  But 
that  isn't  what  I  wanted  to  talk  about.  Tell  me  now, 
Errol  was  in  this  bad  somewhere.  Was  it  only  to  pro- 
tect him  that  Miss  Greye-Stratton  was  keeping  her 
mouth — and  yours — shut?  " 

Jimmie  lifted  his  shoulders.  "  You  remind  me  of  a 
newspaper  man  I  used  to  know.  He  once  went  to  inter- 
view a  jeweller  who,  after  heavily  insuring  his  stock,  was 
found  bound  and  gagged  beside  an  empty  safe.  The 
[250] 


newspaper  man  being  a  tactful  person  anxious  for  a 
story,  opened  his  interview  with  '  tell  me  now,  mister — • 
did  it  really  'appen  ?  '  " 

Menzies  laughed  in  delighted  appreciation.  "  I've  no 
tact,"  he  said.  "  I'll  own  it  freely.  Honestly  though 
now,  aren't  I  right?  " 

Jimmie  frowned  thoughtfully  and  withdrew  his  arm. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  in  a  burst  of  confidence.  "  I  don't  see 
any  harm  in  saying  that's  how  I  figure  it." 

"  She  doesn't  much  care  what  happens  to  Ling?  " 

A  flush  mounted  to  Jimmie's  temples,  but  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  hid  it  from  the  detective.  "  I  won't 
say  that.  I  don't  know.  I've  no  right  to  speak  for 
her." 

They  were  opposite  the  "  Three  Kings."  Menzies 
dropped  a  hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder  and  gently 
piloted  him  to  a  private  door.  "  We'll  get  in  and  see 
the  poor  girl,"  he  said.  "  Should  I  be  wrong  in  thinking; 
that  it  was  Ling  who  brought  Errol  into  this  affair?  If 
that  is  so  she  won't  have  much  love  for  him — eh?  " 

The  young  man  came  to  an  abrupt  halt.  "  See  here, 
Menzies.  How  much  do  you  know — or  rather  how  much 
don't  you  know?  If,  as  you  say,  we're  both  on  the 
same  side  of  the  game  now,  you've  got  to  cough  up." 

"  I'll  trust  you,"  said  Menzies  with  lowered  voice 
and  a  confidential  air.  "  Gwennie  Lyne  and  Ling,  with 
some  of  their  confederates,  are,  I  believe,  within  half 
a  mile  of  where  we  stand.  The  round-up  will  begin 


THE    MAELSTROM 


presently  and  we'll  probably  get  them.  I  don't  want — 
I'll  admit  it — to  have  to  rope  this  girl  in  as  well,  be- 
cause I  believe  if  she's  done  anything  to  bring  her 
within  the  law  at  all  it  was  under  a  sort  of  compulsion. 
If  she  still  keeps  silence  she'll  force  my  hand.  I  don't 
only  want  to  get  Ling,  I  want  more  direct  evidence 
against  him." 

He  had  told  Jimmie  Hallett  nothing  that  he  did  not 
know,  but  he  had  adroitly  side-tracked  the  demand  for 
information.  They  passed  into  the  house.  Peggy  was 
reclining  in  an  armchair  by  the  fire  in  a  sort  of  shop- 
parlour  parted  from  the  saloon  bar  by  a  glass  partition 
shrouded  by  lace  curtains.  The  landlady  of  the  public- 
house  was  sitting  with  her.  With  a  muttered  excuse, 
she  rose  and  departed. 

The  girl  was  pale  and  an  infinite  weariness  was  in  her 
face.  A  flicker  of  interest  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  nodded 
to  Jimmie.  "  You  know?  It  was  good  of  you  to  come." 

Jimmie  crossed  over  to  her  and  took  her  hand.  "  You 
are  all  right?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  "  Not  hurt?  " 

"  Only  tired,"  she  said. 

"  We  have  had  a  doctor,"  explained  Menzies,  who 
had  taken  another  armchair  and  was  extending  his  feet 
to  the  cheerful  blaze.  "  She's  perfectly  normal,  but 
the  shock  has  been  rather  trying.  We  shall  soon  have 
you  as  bright  as  ever,  Miss  Greye-Stratton.  There's 
one  or  two  things  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now  that  may 
cheer  you  up." 

[252] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  round  up  Ling?  " 
interrupted  Jimmie. 

From  the  dissenting  gesture  which  Weir  Menzies 
made  one  would  have  imagined  that  the  capture  of  Ling 
was  a  matter  of  trivial  importance.  His  eyes  twinkled. 
"  In  a  hurry  to  turn  me  out — eh?  There's  plenty  of 
time  for  that.  We  don't  want  a  big  audience  for  that 
sort  of  thing.  We'll  let  the  crowd  get  to  bed.  Now  " 
— he  became  serious,  and  placing  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
leaned  forward  towards  the  girl — "  I've  talked  to  Mr. 
Hallett  here  and  I've  come  to  a  conclusion." 

Jimmie  again  interrupted.  "  Hadn't  you  better 
leave  that,"  he  said. 

Menzies'  ruddy  face  glowed  benevolently.  "  Don't 
you  chip  in  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Hallett.  I  know  ex- 
actly how  Miss  Greye-Stratton  feels.  If  you  only 
knew  it  I'm  her  fairy  godfather.  Now  listen,  I'm 
going  right  through  this  case  with  you  and  will  see 
where  we  all  stand.  I'm  going  to  show  you  my  hand." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  waiting  as  if  for  Hallett 
to  say  something.  Jimmie  remained  silent.  He  was  half 
suspicious  of  this  new  move,  for  he  had  learned  that 
Menzies'  candour  was  usually  in  the  nature  of  bait. 
In  that  he  was  right.  A  detective  has  often  to  employ 
the  weapons  of  the  confidence  man. 

"  We'll  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  the  chief  in- 
spector, laying  the  stubby  forefinger  of  his  right  hand 
into  the  palm  of  his  left.  "  Let's  make  it  supposition^ 

[253] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


shall  we?  Suppose  now,  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  you  were 
to  come  into  a  big  fortune  on  the  death  of  your  father. 
There's  the  starting-point  of  the  whole  thing.  Suppose 
your  brother  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  gang  of 
American  crooks.  Now  I  want  to  say  nothing  against 
your  brother,  Miss  Greye-Stratton — whatever  he  was 
he  has  paid  the  penalty,  but  he  was  a  weak  man.  We 
can  agree  on  that. 

"  Very  well.  Still  supposing,  we  will  agree  that  he 
bragged  a  bit  about  his  rich  relatives.  It  is  the  kind 
of  thing  he  would  do.  The  whole  story  would  have  been 
twisted  out  of  him  in  five  minutes.  Then  the  thing  be- 
came absurdly  simple.  There  was  little  risk  about  it. 
All  that  had  to  be  done  was  to  seek  you  out,  marry  you 
to  one  of  the  gang,  and  wait  for  nature  to  take  its  course 
with  the  old  gentleman." 

Peggy,  who  had  been  listening  apathetically,  roused 
herself  to  life.  Her  eyes  were  like  stars. 

"  You,  my  girl  " — he  spoke  with  a  kind  of  paternal 
patronage — "  can  have  little  idea  of  the  infinite  pains 
which  really  great  criminals  go  to  in  organising  their 
projects — how  they  plan  point  by  point,  slowly,  care- 
fully, sometimes  for  months.  Their  first  business  was  to 
get  Errol  irrevocably  into  their  clutches.  That  was 
easy  enough.  He  is  wanted  by  the  American  police  for 
uttering  forged  Treasury  bonds " 

"  That  is  a  lie,"  broke  in  the  girl  impulsively.     "  He 

assured  me "    She  cut  off  the  sentence  shortly. 

[254] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  He  assured  you,"  finished  the  chief  inspector  pla- 
cidly, "  that  he  had  not  committed  any  crime  before  he 
forged  your  father's  name  to  the  cheques  which  you 
passed  to  Mr.  Hallett  in  the  fog." 

Hallett  jumped  to  his  feet.  Peggy's  gaze  had  de- 
serted Menzies  and,  reproachful  and  accusing,  was  fixed 
on  him.  "  You "  she  choked. 

Menzies  waited  with  the  resigned  air  of  a  man  who 
has  been  interrupted  in  a  story.  He  gave  no  sign  that 
he  had  deliberately  seized  the  opportunity  to  surprise 
one  or  both  of  them  into  an  admission. 

"  I  never  told  you,"  denied  Jimmie  vehemently.  The 
protestation  was  meant  for  the  girl.  "  How  did  you 
know?" 

"  It's  of  small  importance,"  said  Menzies.  "  You've 
only  confirmed  that  of  which  I  am  certain.  I  knew  be- 
cause it  was  an  irresistible  inference — an  inference  you 
couldn't  get  away  from  in  a  court  of  law.  I'll  come 
to  that  in  a  minute.  I  knew  about  E-rrol  in  America 
without  any  magic.  I  asked  Pinkerton's  to  rake  him  up 
for  me,  that's  all.  He  had  used  another  name  but  they 
got  on  to  one  or  two  episodes.  .  .  .  He  came  to  Eng- 
land a  year  ago,  near  enough — and  curiously  enough 
Ling,  Gwennie  Lyne,  and  Dago  Sam,  and  probably  some 
others,  arrived  about  the  same  time  by  separate 
boats." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  asked  Hallett. 

"  How   do   you  get   at   ancient   history?"    retorted 

[255] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Menzies  scornfully.  "  By  research.  I  didn't  find  Ling's 
collar  stud  nor  Gwennie  Lyne's  shoe  buckle  in  a  state- 
room. They  were  over  here  and  they  had  been  in  New 
York.  The  Central  Office  in  New  York  lost  sight  of 
them  at  a  certain  date.  I  got  from  Miss  Greye- 
Stratton — she  will  remember  that  I  went  into  the  matter 
closely — the  approximate  date  of  her  brother's  reap- 
pearance in  England,  and  then  it  was  only  a  question  of 
patience." 

He  had  abandoned  the  hypothetical  method  of  stating 
his  case  and  went  on  like  a  patient  school-teacher  de- 
monstrating a  subject  to  a  class  of  school  children. 

"  Now  at  various  times  we  picked  up  our  facts  and 
corroborative  details.  Mainly  they  were  the  cheques 
passed  over  to  Mr.  Hallett,  the  visit  of  Stewart  Reader 
Ling  to  Miss  Greye-Stratton's  flat  and  particularly  the 
one  he  paid  the  night  the  murder  was  committed.  Ling 
dropped  a  wedding  ring,  which  was  found  by  the  lift 
attendant.  Miss  Greye-Stratton  followed  him  out  hat- 
less  and  in  a  hurry  a  few  minutes  later. 

"  Don't  imagine  that  I  jumped  to  an  irrevocable  con- 
clusion then.  I  found — it  was  merely  a  matter  of  hav- 
ing marriage  registers  at  Somerset  House  searched — 
that  she  had  gone  through  a  form  of  marriage  with 
Stewart  Reader  Ling.  Then  I  had  more  than  a  sus- 
picion of  Errol.  You  were  certainly  uneasy  when  you 
came  to  see  me,  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  though  I'll  do  you 
the  justice  to  say  you  controlled  your  feelings  well. 

[256] 


But  the  biggest  fool  that  ever  stepped  could  see  that 
you  were  holding  something  back. 

"  I  confronted  the  pair  of  you  by  as  near  surprise  as 
I  could  work  it,  but  you  did  me  down.  But  the  main 
thing  began  to  stick  out  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff.  Ling 
an  adventurer,  Dago  Sam — whom  I  then  only  knew  as 
William  Smith — a  tough  from  Toughville,  Errol  a  was- 
trel, and  you  an  heiress.  The  combination  worked 
itself  out.  Why  should  you  deny  that  you  had  passed 
the  cheques  over  ?  Why  should  you  have  held  back  any- 
thing when  we  had  a  chat  ?  You  were  either  in  the  game 
yourself  or  you  were  doing  it  for  someone  else.  Clearly 
you  were  afraid  of  Ling  and  you  had  quarrelled  in  the 
flat.  It  was  clear  too  that  you  were  not  in  love  with 
him.  Why  had  you  married?  There  had  been  com- 
pulsion of  some  kind  and  the  cheques  were  concerned  or 
you  wouldn't  have  been  so  eager  to  get  them  away. 
They  were  proof  of  someone's  guilt.  I  should  say  that 
when  we  searched  Greye-Stratton's  house  we  did  not 
come  across  a  single  thing  that  had  reference  to  even 
the  smallest  banking  transaction.  Clearly  all  bank- 
books, pocket-books,  and  so  on  had  been  taken  away  or 
destroyed. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  the  outlines  of  the  scheme.  Errol 
had  forged  his  father's  name  and  that  had  been  used  as 
a  lever  to  induce  you  to  consent  to  the  marriage.  The 
part  not  according  to  the  programme  was  that  Ling 
wanted  you  to  live  with  him,  either  because  he  had  fallen 

[257] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


in  love  with  you  or  because  he  thought  that  it  would 
be  easier  to  lift  the  fortune  if  he  was  your  acknowledged 
husband." 

"The  murder?"  she  said  eagerly.  "You  have  not 
spoken  of  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke?  "  he  asked.  "  I  can  think 
better  with  a  pipe.  Thank  you.  No,  I  haven't  dealt 
with  the  murder  yet.  I  was  just  coming  to  that. 
Here's  a  point  I  haven't  spoken  about.  Perhaps  you 
can  help  me  though  I  don't  attach  much  importance 
to  it.  A  woman  had  visited  him  twice  during  the  last 
year.  Was  that  you?" 

"  It  was  I,"  she  admitted. 

He  remained  silent. 

*'  I  did  not  like  asking  him  to  see  me,"  she  went  on. 
"  It  wasn't  pleasant.  I  asked  him  to  do  something  for 
my  brother.  It  was  after  I  had  made  my  final  appeal 
to  him  that  he  promised  to  think  over  it.  It  was  a 
week  or  two  before  his  death  that  he  sent,  under  cover 
to  me,  a  packet  addressed  to  my  brother.  It  contained 
the  forged  cheques  and  a  curt  note  that  that  was  all 
he  might  ever  expect." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Menzies.  "  That  explains  how 
Ling  got  those  dead  cheques.  There  was  an  abusive 
letter  written  by  Errol  to  your  father  of  which  we 
found  the  charred  remains  in  the  grate.  Whether 
through  that  letter  or  some  other  letter  or  threats  made 
in  person  the  old  man  went  in  fear  of  his  life." 

[258] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Peggy  shivered. 

"  By  all  the  laws  of  probability  Errol  was  the  mur- 
derer. Even  on  the  line  of  reasoning  I  have  indicated 
he  was  the  most  likely  man.  Mind  you,  even  yet  I  am 
not  sure.  The  motive  of  the  crime  is  clear  enough  and 
any  one  of  the  gang  may  have  tired  of  waiting.  It  is 
possible — and  a  likely  thing  considering  the  characters 
of  the  persons  concerned — that  his  sense  of  grievance 
was  deliberately  worked  upon  to  fan  into  flame  the 
fierce  hatred  he  nourished  against  his  father.  I'll  own 
I  held  that  theory  strongly  for  a  while.  Later  I  aban- 
doned it.  He  may  have  been  an  accessory,  he  may  even 
have  been  in  the  house  at  the  time  that  the  murder  took 
place ;  he  certainly  knew  who  was  the  murderer." 

The  tense  look  on  Peggy's  features  was  relaxed.  She 
drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"  That  is  my  opinion,"  resumed  the  detective,  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  why.  Mr.  Hallett's  call  at  Linstone  Ter- 
race Gardens  could  not  have  been  foreseen.  He  was  ad- 
mitted and  knocked  out.  Likely  enough,  if  the  man  who 
had  hit  him  had  had  all  his  wits  about  him  he  would 
have  finished  the  job.  Anyway,  subsequent  events 
showed  that  the  gang  believed  that  he  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  murderer's  features  and  that  as  an  awk- 
ward witness  he  must  be  intimidated  or  kept  out  of  the 
way. 

"  Remember  that  Errol  was  only  a  tool  in  this  con- 
spiracy— a  stool-pigeon.  The  rest  of  the  gang  would 

[259] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


have  been  pleased  to  see  him  out  of  the  way  so  long  as 
they  were  safe  themselves.  If  I  know  anything  of 
Gwennie  Lyne  and  Ling  they  would  easily  have  ar- 
ranged that  if  he  had  killed  Greye-Stratton  he  should 
have  been  the  scapegoat." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  put  in  Hallett,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing with  an  eagerness  no  less  intense  than  that  of  the 
girl,  "  that  if  it  had  been  Errol  who  opened  the  door  to 
me  they  would  not  have  worried  whether  I  should  recog- 
nise him  again  or  not.  They  would  have  let  him  take 
his  own  risk?  " 

"  You  get  it,"  said  Menzies.  "  One  of  the  master 
brains  was  concerned.  It  certainly  wasn't  Gwennie 
Lyne — the  person  you  saw  was  a  man.  Of  the  known 
folk  mixed  up  in  this  business  that  leaves  Ling  and 
Dago  Sam.  Sam  we'll  put  aside  for  the  moment.  Who 
was  the  person  who  was  most  concerned  in  the  success- 
ful carrying  out  of  the  original  coup — whose  safety  or 
danger  affected  the  pockets  of  the  rest?  "  He  half 
closed  his  eyes  as  though  he  were  weary  of  laying  down 
the  course  of  the  case  and  went  on  drowsily.  "  That 
singles  out  the  man  who  had  married  Miss  Greye- 
Stratton — Stewart  Reader  Ling.  If  he  was  arrested 
for  the  killing  where  do  the  rest  of  'em  stand?"  He 
answered  his  own  question.  "  The  show  was  busted." 

"  I'm  not  saying  that  Treasury  counsel  would  follow 
the  line  I'm  laying  down  if  we  ever  get  Ling  in  the 
dock.  There's  more  than  one  thing  that  bears  me  out, 
[260] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


however.  A  thread  of  cloth  was  found  near  the  dead 
man  which  corresponds  to  a  suit  that  Ling  was  wearing 
on  at  least  one  occasion.  You,  Mr.  Hallett,  took  off 
him  one  or  two  things  of  importance,  among  them  Mr. 
Greye-Stratton's  missing  pistol — the  pistol  with  which 
probably  the  murder  was  committed." 

He  roused  himself  and  tapped  his  pipe  on  the  fender. 
<c  Now  I  promised  you  I'd  lay  down  my  hand — a  thing 
I've  not  done  to  outsiders  before  a  case  was  completed 
for  twenty  years.  I  have  done  it  because  I  believe  it  will 
remove  any  scruples  you  may  have  in  clearing  up  some 
matters.  Miss  Greye-Stratton — I  may  be  wrong  but  I 
don't  think  so — has  probably  been  actuated  by  an  idea 
that  her  brother  had  committed  a  big  crime  and  a  desire 
to  save  him  from  the  consequences." 

She  looked  up  gravely.  "  I  thought,'*  she  murmured 
in  a  low  voice — so  low  that  she  was  scarcely  audible — 
"  that  he  might  have  shot  my  father  in  a  fit  of  passion." 

"  I  guessed  there  was  something  of  that  sort  in  your 
mind."  He  sat  suddenly  upright  and  slapped  his  thigh. 
"  What  a  maundering  old  fool  I  am.  Here  I've  been 
talking  my  head  off  and  I've  clean  forgot  to  say  what  I 
really  meant  to.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Greye-Stratton, 
you're  not  married  at  all.  Ling  was  married  before  he 
met  you." 

Jimmie  Hallett's  face  surged  a  vivid  scarlet  with  emo- 
tion and  he  felt  his  heart  pumping  like  a  steam  piston. 
He  stole  a  look  at  the  girl  as  she  scrutinised  the  de- 

[261] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


tective  in  wide-eyed  amazement.  Her  eyes  became  de- 
tached for  a  moment  and  met  his.  Then  the  flush  of 
colour  into  her  cheeks  rivalled  his. 

"  Not  married,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  told  you  I  was  your  fairy  godfather,"  chuckled 
Menzies. 


[  262  ] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"  THAT'S  perfectly  true,"  he  said.  "  He  was  tied  up 
tight  to  an  actress  in  New  York  five  years  since.  I 
gather  the  little  woman  doesn't  quite  know  what  sort  of 
a  crook  he  is.  There  was  a  letter  from  her  in  your 
pocket  this  morning,  Mr.  Hallett.  I  guess  you  either 
hadn't  the  time  or  curiosity  to  read  it.  I  sent  a  cable 
to  New  York  and  the  answer  was  brought  out  from  the 
Yard  to  me  here.  He's  a  married  man,  O.  K.,  and  if 
we  didn't  have  this  other  thing  up  against  him  we  could 
pull  him  for  bigamy.  The  move  smells  of  Gwennie 
Lyne.  She  wasn't  going  to  put  her  pal's  hooks  into  the 
money  bags  unless  she'd  got  a  collar  and  chain  on  him. 
If  the  part  of  the  bridegroom  had  been  played  by  a 
single  man  she  might  have  had  to  whistle  for  her  share 
of  the  plunder.  But  a  man  who  was  already  married 
couldn't  put  the  double  cross  on  her." 

Jimmie's  spirits  had  unaccountably  risen  to  the  wild- 
est exuberance.  He  clasped  a  hand  down  on  Menzies' 
shoulder  with  a  force  that  caused  the  other  to  wince. 

"  You  garrulous  old  sinner,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  take 
it  all  back.  Consider  yourself  staked  to  the  best  dinner 
that  this  little  old  village  can  produce  the  minute  you 
say  you've  got  an  evening." 

"  You  take  what  back?  "  demanded  Peggy,  more  for 
the  sake  of  covering  a  certain  confusion  than  from  any 

[263] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


curiosity.  Jimmie's  face  grew  hot  as  he  remembered  the 
handcuffs. 

"  There  was  a  little  academic  discussion  this  morning 
on  a  point  of  professional  ethics,"  said  Menzies. 

"  Hardly  academic,"  laughed  Jimmie.  "  I  should  call 
it  a  practical  demonstration." 

"  We  differed,  anyhow.  But  I'm  being  switched  off 
my  line.  I'm  just  making  clear  Miss  Greye-Stratton 
that  you've  got  no  family  ties  now  to  prevent  you  speak- 
ing out.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  everything  you  know. 
Will  you  be  as  frank  with  me  as  I  with  you  ?  " 

The  brief  wave  of  happiness  that  had  come  to  her 
with  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  tied  to  Ling  was 
followed  by  a  return  of  depression.  "  I  am  willing 
enough  to  tell  you  anything  I  can  now,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  But  won't  it  do  when  all  this  horrible  business  is  over. 
I  am  tired,  so  tired." 

"  Come,  Menzies.  You  can  see  how  it  is.  Another 
day  won't  hurt.  You  don't  think  Miss  Greye-Stratton'si 
made  of  iron." 

Menzies  took  out  his  watch.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
me  young  fellow,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "  you'd  still  be  play- 
ing piquet  with  Royal  at  the  hotel.  In  half  an  hour 
I've  got  to  be  digging  Mr.  Ling  out  and  I  guess  this 
young  lady  can  stand  a  quiet  talk  meanwhile.  Now, 
Miss  Greye-Stratton,  please.  Tell  me  everything 
your  own  way,  and  if  any  question  occurs  to  me  I'll 
ask  it." 


THE    MAELSTROM 


His  manner,  suave  though  his  voice  was,  admitted  of 
no  further  dispute. 

"  I'm  unreasonable,  Mr.  Menzies,"  she  said.  "  I  can 
see  you're  quite  right." 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  and  lit  a  fresh  pipe. 

He  smoked  quietly  while  she  told  him  her  story,  occa- 
sionally interjecting  a  question  as  some  point  became 
obscure.  An  ejaculation  of  appreciation  escaped  him 
as  she  told  how  she  had  refused  to  be  a  wife  in  anything 
but  name  to  Ling. 

"  Good  for  you,  Miss  Greye-Stratton." 

Her  vivid  face  ebbed  and  flowed  with  colour  as  she 
went  on.  When  she  had  concluded  he  scribbled  a  few 
Greek  notes  on  the  back  of  an  envelope.  "  That  bears 
out  things  as  I  placed  them,"  he  commented.  "  There's 
a  point  that's  puzzling  me,  however.  Your  brother  had 
a  knife  wound  which  he  said  was  due  to  an  accident. 
Do  you  believe  that?  " 

The  peremptory  question  took  her  unawares  as  Men- 
zies had  meant  it  to.  She  reflected  for  a  second  before 
replying.  "  No,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  do  not." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  more — no  hint  or  explanation 
of  any  kind?  " 

"  He  never  said  a  word  and  I  never  questioned  him. 
He  was  never  in  a  condition  to  be  questioned." 

The  chief  inspector  gnawed  absently  at  his  mous- 
tache. "  I'll  own  it  puzzles  me  a  bit,"  he  said.  "  If  it 
was  Ling  who  did  it,  why  didn't  he  make  a  clean  job  of 

[265] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


it?  Anyway,  why  should  he  get  Errol  up  there  and  send 
for  Miss  Greye-Stratton  to  nurse  him?  People  don't  do 
things  like  that." 

"  Remorse,"  suggested  Jimmie. 

Menzies  smiled.  "  Try  again.  You  don't  know 
Ling." 

"  It's  too  far-fetched,  I  suppose,"  said  Jimmie 
thoughtfully,  "  to  think  that  it  was  done  with  the  idea 
of  bagging  me.  Besides,  how  should  he  judge  that 
Pe — Miss  Greye-Stratton  would  write  to  me?  " 

"  Much  too  far-fetched,"  agreed  the  other  man 
drily.  "  But  you've  given  me  some  sort  of  an  idea. 
You  were  not  the  only  person  they  wanted  out  of  the 
way.  If  Miss  Greye-Stratton  took  the  bit  between  her 
teeth  they  realised  that  she  could  make  things  pretty 
hot  for  them.  They  would  want  to  keep  an  eye  on  her. 
I  suppose  you  are  sure " — he  addressed  the  girl — 
"that  Errol  really  was  wounded?  It  wasn't  just  a 
frame-up?  " 

"  I'll  answer  that  he  was  a  very  sick  man  when  I 
saw  him,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  Yes.  Of  course.  I  forgot  your  little  scrimmage. 
Still,  I  think  we've  got  a  motive,  and  I'd  sooner  have 
a  motive  to  build  an  assumption  on  any  day  than  a 
heap  of  cigarette  ash  or  scratches  on  a  watch." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  matters,"  exclaimed  Jimmie, 
who  secretly  nursed  a  little  contempt  for  what  he  con- 
sidered the  detective's  over-subtlety.  "  Isn't  it  a  by- 
[266] 


point,  however  you  look  at  it?  You  know  that  Ling 
did  the  killing.  You  can  get  him  for  that.  All  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  catch  him." 

Menzies'  smile  broadened.  "  Now  that  is  nice  of 
you,"  he  said  suavely.  "  There's  only  one  little  objec- 
tion to  it.  I  don't  know  that  he's  guilty.  I  don't  be- 
lieve that  he  is.  There  never  has  been  a  case  except 
when  a  murderer  has  been  taken  red-handed,  of  con- 
clusive proof.  It  is  only  when  you  feel  that  a  man  is 
guilty  that  the  worst  difficulties  begin  to  crop  up.  A 
detective  has  to  examine  every  side-path.  We'll  take  it 
that  so  far  as  the  wound  is  concerned  it  was  no 
frame-up.  No  sane  person  would  believe  that  an  injury 
like  that  was  an  accident.  Now  if  Errol  had  got  it  in 
a  row  apart  from  this  case  he'd  have  no  reason  not  to 
tell  his  sister.  If  Ling  had  done  it,  or  had  it  done  pur- 
posely, Errol  probably  would  have  been  mad  enough  to 
give  the  gang  away." 

"  Unless  he  was  scared,"  said  Hallett. 

"  Precisely.  Unless  he  was  scared.  But  I  don't 
think  he  was  scared.  What  I  believe  happened  was  that 
someone  got  out  of  hand  and  tried  to  do  Errol.  Who 
it  was  we'll  very  likely  find  out  when  we  know  who's 
standing  in  with  Ling.  The  gang  probably  had  some- 
thing else  mapped  out  to  keep  Miss  Greye-Stratton 
under  their  wing,  but  they  jumped  to  this  racket." 
He  pointed  his  pipe  towards  her.  "  It  meant  that  if 
you  had  a  sick  brother  you'd  be  as  anxious  to  keep  out 

[267] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


of  the  way  of  the  police  as  any  other  of  them.  Oh, 
they're  a  wise  mob.  I'd  bet  any  money  if  I  was  a 
betting  man  that  you  never  had  any  suspicion  of  Mrs. 
Buttle  being  anything  but  what  she  was  made  up  to 
be?" 

Peggy  stared  at  him. 

"  She  was  Gwennie  Lyne.  There  isn't  an  ounce  of 
the  Cockney  about  her." 

"  I'd  have  sworn  it  was  she  when  I  came  out  last 
night,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  I  wish  to  blazes  you'd  said  so  then,"  said  Menzies. 
He  glanced  at  his  watch  again.  "  Well,  if  anything 
more  occurs  to  either  of  you  people  perhaps  you'll  let 
me  know.  I've  got  to  get  to  work  again.  I've  sent 
for  a  police  matron  and  a  nurse,  Mr.  Hallett,  so  per- 
haps you'll  stay  with  Miss  Greye-Stratton  till  they 
come.  They'll  be  able  to  make  arrangements." 

Jimmie's  eyebrows  jumped  up,  but  the  girl  was  be- 
fore him.  "  A  police  matron?  "  she  repeated. 

"  I  could  understand  a  nurse,"  said  Hallett.  "  But, 
as  Miss  Greye-Stratton  says,  why  a  police  matron? 
You're  not  proposing  to  put  her  under — under  any  re- 
straint? " 

A  little  flash  of  temper  showed  in  the  chief  inspector's 
face.  It  was  gone  instantly.  He  placed  his  hands  on 
the  sides  of  his  chair  and  heaved  himself  up  ponder- 
ously. "  Not  in  the  least,"  he  said  urbanely.  "  I'm  only 
remembering  that  a  little  while  ago  some  people  pre- 
[268] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


ferred  to  try  to  burn  her  to  death  rather  than  run  a 
risk  of  her  telling  what  she  has  told.  I  don't  believe 
she's  in  any  danger  now,  but  I  should  deserve  to  be 
broke  if  I  didn't  see  that  she  was  protected.  That's 
why  I  sent  for  the  matron,  and  what's  more " — he 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets  and  jingled 
some  coins — "  she  won't  be  left  alone  night  or  day  now 
till  this  case  is  over." 

Peggy's  eyes  met  Hallett's  and  in  their  blue  depths 
there  lurked  an  appeal.  Torn  as  she  had  been  by  the 
travail  of  the  last  few  days  she  instinctively  shrank 
from  contact  with  strangers.  It  was  not  that  she  did 
not  see  and  understand  the  reasonableness  of  Menzies' 
proposition.  It  was  just  one  of  those  psychological 
phenomena  of  which  there  is  no  explanation.  She  had 
a  latent  impression  conjured  up  by  the  use  of  the  word 
police  matron  of  a  hard-featured,  strident-voiced  dis- 
ciplinarian and  she  still  retained  enough  of  her  old  inde- 
pendent spirit  to  resent  even  the  suggestion  that  she 
should  be  placed  under  any  control. 

Hallett  answered  the  appeal. 

"  You're  going  a  little  beyond  your  rights,  Menzies. 
If  Miss  Greye-Stratton  doesn't  object  I  haven't  an- 
other word  to  say.  But  she's  a  free  agent  and  you  can't 
force  protection  on  her  against  her  will.  So  far  as  that 
goes  I  should  consider  it  a  privilege  if  she'd  allow 
me " 

Her  face  gleamed  with  gratitude.  "  I  could  go  back 
[269] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


to  my  flat,"  she  cried,  "  and  I  could  get  a  friend  to 
come  in  to  stay  with  me." 

Their  failure  to  see  his  point  of  view  exasperated 
Menzies,  the  more  especially  as  he  had  been  at  some 
trouble  to  send  for  a  matron  of  his  acquaintance,  the 
antithesis  of  Peggy's  imaginings — a  little  grey-eyed 
person  whose  sympathetic  tact  and  good-nature  had 
more  than  once  tamed  even  the  fiercest  of  suffragettes 
who  came  under  her  influence. 

"  You're  a  pair  of  young  fools,"  he  said  bluntly. 

Jimmie  bowed. 

"  You'd  better  get  it  out  of  your  heads  that  I'm 
going  to  stand  for  any  of  this  nonsense,"  he  went  on. 
"  A  fine  thing  to  have  you  blundering  round  London 
on  your  own  if  Ling  or  any  of  the  others  slipped  us 
now.  I  tell  you,  any  danger  you  were  in  before 
wouldn't  be  a  circumstance  to  what  it  would  be  now. 
We've  stirred  up  this  hornet's  nest  and  they're  ready 
to  sting.  They  won't  stand  on  ceremony  if  they  can 
put  anyone  who  can  testify  against  them  down  and  out, 
believe  me." 

"That's  a  bluff,"  said  Hallett  coolly.  "You're 
trying  to  frighten  Miss  Greye-Stratton.  I  guess  she'll 
take  the  risk  as  I  will." 

"  I  guess  she  won't,"  said  Menzies,  a  little  flushed 
about  the  temples.  He  was  thoroughly  honest  in  his 
belief  that  she  might  find  herself  in  peril  if  she  were 
allowed  to  go  without  surveillance  at  this  stage.  At  the 

[270] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


back  of  his  mind,  too,  there  lurked  a  suspicion  that  he 
had  perhaps  exposed  his  hand  too  openly  and  until 
matters  had  matured  he  didn't  want  to  take  any 
chances. 

"  She's  been  shaken  up  a  bit,"  he  went  on,  "  or  she'd 
see  that  it  would  be  sheer  stupidity  to  get  out  of  touch 
with  us — sheer  fatuous  stupidity." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  de- 
manded Jimmie.  "  She  naturally  prefers  her  own 
friends,  and  I  will  say  I  agree  with  her.  Going  to 
threaten  to  arrest  her  as  you  did  me?  " 

The  detective  cocked  a  moody  eye  at  him.  "  Some- 
thing of  the  kind.  Don't  you  forget  I've  got  power  to 
detain  a  person  on  suspicion  without  making  any  actual 
charge.  What's  to  hinder  me  doing  that  to  both  of  you 
if  you  persist  in  this  attitude?  " 

"  Surely,"  persisted  Jimmie,  "  considering  what  Miss 
Greye-Stratton  has  passed  through " 

"  That's  just  what  I  am  considering.  I  hate  to  use 
the  appearance  of  force,  but  if  you  won't  be  reasonable 
I've  got  to  see  that  precautions  are  taken  for  her  own 
sake.  Now  wait  a  minute.  Forget  I'm  a  police  officer 
for  a  minute.  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  I'm  sure  I'm  speak- 
ing for  my  wife  when  I  ask  you  to  be  our  guest  for  a 
few  days.  We'll  do  our  best  to  make  you  com- 
fortable." 

She  almost  laughed  in  her  relief.  "  Thank  you  very 
much,"  she  said.  "  It's  silly  of  me,  I  know,  but  I  just 

[271] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


hate  the  idea  of  a  police  matron.  It  would  make  me 
feel  as  if  I  really  were  a  criminal." 

"  That's  all  right,  then,"  he  said,  and  smiled  across 
at  Hallett.  "Any  objections?"  he  asked. 

"  You're  a  sport — sometimes,"  said  the  young  man 
and  held  out  his  hand. 


[  272  ] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  minute  search  of  the  enclosed  area  on  which  Weir 
Menzies  had  set  his  heart  he  knew  to  be  no  trifling  busi- 
ness. The  crowds,  both  inside  and  outside,  the  still  un- 
broken cordons  had  thinned  as  the  fire  burnt  out  and  no 
promise  of  further  spectacular  action  presented  itself. 

So  far  as  was  humanly  possible  the  detectives  and 
uniformed  police  had  seen  that  no  authorised  person 
had  entered  or  left  the  cordon.  If  Ling  had  ever  been 
inside  they  were  confident  he  could  not  have  broken  out. 

Menzies  had  a  high  respect  for  the  brains  and  audac- 
ity of  both  Gwennie  Lyne  and  Ling  and  though  he  be- 
lieved he  had  managed  to  isolate  them,  as  it  were,  in  an 
island  of  some  hundreds  of  houses,  he  was  not  altogether 
confident  of  the  result. 

The  whole  district  was  a  human  rabbit-warren. 

The  sifting  of  the  ruins  was  going  to  take  time.  En- 
quiries which  in  a  better  class  district  might  have  re- 
sulted in  something  tangible  were  not  to  be  thought  of. 
The  breed  of  liar  who  inhabited  those  slums  would  talk 
— oh,  yes,  he  would  talk.  A  flood  of  information  or  mis- 
information would  be  let  loose  at  a  second's  notice. 

Moreover  the  difficulty  of  the  search  was  going  to  be 
increased  by  a  number  of  people  who  had  their  own 
reasons  for  avoiding  association  with  the  police. 

Menzies  bit  his  lip  as  Foyle,  the  collar  of  his  water- 
[273] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


proof  well  turned  up  to  protect  his  face  from  the  driv- 
ing rain,  approached. 

"  Nasty  weather  for  a  job  like  this,"  he  commented. 
"How  did  you  get  on?  "  He  jerked  his  head  towards 
the  public-house. 

"  Oh,  her."  Menzies  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  That 
was  as  easy  as  pie.  She  coughed  up  everything.  She's 
a  good  girl  and  I've  invited  her  to  meet  Mrs.  Menzies." 

The  superintendent  wiped  the  raindrops  off  his  pince- 
nez.  "  I  sometimes  think  you're  more  human  than  you 
give  yourself  out  to  be,"  he  observed  drily.  "  You've 
been  the  dickens  and  all  of  a  time  in  there.  Have  you 
forgotten  Ling?  You've  stopped  this  rats'  hole.  When 
are  you  going  to  begin  to  dig  him  out?  " 

"  Might  as  well  begin,  I  suppose,"  agreed  Menzies,  a 
little  doubtfully.  "  We'll  have  the  streets  cleared  abso- 
lutely first,  I  think." 

No  one  of  the  scores  of  detectives  took  any  part  in 
this  opening  move.  A  dozen  uniformed  men  began  to 
steadily  sweep  away  the  few  remaining  groups  of  spec- 
tators. There  was  nothing  unusual  to  be  noticed  about 
this  process  except  by  those  individuals  who  had  no  re- 
treat within  the  surrounded  area  and  so  were  driven  by 
ones  and  twos  on  to  the  detachments  still  lined  across 
the  roadway. 

They  were  dealt  with  with  swift  precision.  There 
were  few  questions  and  no  argument — at  least  upon  the 
side  of  the  police.  The  senior  officer  at  each  barrier  had 

[274] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


a  formula.  "  You  will  have  to  accompany  a  constable 
to  the  station  until  you  have  given  an  account  of  your- 
self and  enquiries  have  been  made."  From  that  edict 
there  was  no  appeal.  Menzies'  net  was  a  wide  one  and 
he  was  willing  to  accept  the  risk  of  some  estimable 
citizen  being  caught  in  it  and  raising  a  storm  about  his 
head. 

Not  that  that  was  likely,  for  Heldon  Foyle  had  vol- 
unteered for  the  task  of  sifting  those  who  were  brought 
into  the  police-station  and  he  had  an  inimitable  faculty 
for  smoothing  the  creases  out  of  the  most  irate  citizen's 
temper.  Menzies  was  left  to  conduct  operations  on  the 
spot. 

It  was  an  advantage  that  both  Gwennie  Lyne  and 
Ling  were  known  crooks.  Their  photographs  had  been 
circulated  and  among  the  assembled  detectives  were  at 
least  a  dozen  who  had  been  on  occasion  in  personal  con- 
tact with  one  or  the  other.  This  simplified  matters,  en- 
abling Menzies  to  split  up  four  parties  to  start  at  dif- 
ferent points. 

None  of  them  were  novices  at  the  game,  and  weapons, 
official  and  unofficial,  bulged  in  many  pockets.  They 
had  been  warned  there  might  be  gun-play  and  though 
in  London  a  crook  is  allowed  first  shot  that  is  no  reason 
for  allowing  him  a  second  or  a  third.  Nevertheless  it 
was  nervy  work. 

The  bulk  of  the  army  of  detectives  merely  hung 
about  the  street  with  their  eyes  open,  in  case  they  were 
[275] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


wanted.  Comparatively  small  parties  entered  the 
houses  to  view  the  inmates,  by  now  mostly  asleep.  Now 
and  again  the  light  from  a  lantern  or  an  electric  torch 
would  rest  longer  than  usual  on  the  face  of  one  of  the 
sleepers,  or  someone  would  pull  back  the  blanket  which 
by  accident  or  design  had  been  shifted  so  as  to  conceal 
features. 

Those  who  were  aroused  for  the  most  part  took  this 
domiciliary  visit  with  apathetic  curiosity.  Sometimes 
a  growling  curse  would  be  thrown  at  the  officers,  some- 
times an  attempt  at  rough  chaff,  which  the  detectives 
answered  in  kind.  Only  when  they  were  met  with  oppo- 
sition did  the  stern  purpose  beneath  their  good  humour 
show  itself. 

A  short,  stocky  Cockney  Irishman,  red-haired  and 
obstinate,  barred  the  passage  at  one  house.  "  An'  it's 
meself  that  wants  to  know  what  for  ye  are  troublin* 
dacent  folk  at  this  hour  at  all,  at  all,"  he  demanded. 

"  That's  all  right,  Mike,"  said  the  burly  Hugh  good- 
humouredly.  "  We're  police  officers.  We're  just  tak- 
ing a  look  round.  Look  out  of  the  way." 

The  Irishman's  jaw  jutted  out  and  his  face  became 
bellicose.  "  It's  not  me  house  that  ye'll  be  turning  up- 
side down,"  he  announced.  "  Ye've  no  right  at  all,  at 
all,  an'  by  the  Splindour  of  Hiven  I'll  paste  the  fir-r-st 
blagguard  o'  ye  that  tries  to  come  it."  He  shook  a  beefy 
fist  at  them.  "  I'm  a  respectable  man  and  I  know  the 
law." 

[276] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


One  of  the  detectives  brought  up  from  the  river  police 
peered  forward.  He  was  an  Irishman  himself.  "  That 
you,  Tim  Donovan  ?  "  he  said.  "  Sure  the  last  toime 
we  met  you  had  a  lot  of  ship  junk  that  some  omadhaun 
had  stuck  in  your  cellar.  An'  you  in  the  marine  dealers' 
trade,  too.  We've  lost  sight  of  ye  since  then.  Do  ye 
want  to  meet  that  magistrate  again  or  is  your  cellar 
full  now?" 

The  reminiscence — an  episode  in  which  he  had  figured 
as  the  receiver  of  stolen  ships'  stores — appeared  to  in- 
furiate him.  "  It's  meself  ye  forsworn  Judas,"  he 
snarled,  "  an'  if  ye'll  just  kindly  step  up  it's  meself 
that'll  measure  the  length  of  me  fut  on  your  carcase. 
Not  a  hair  o'  any  of  ye  comes  into  my  house." 

"  That's  enough,"  commanded  Hugh  curtly.  "  Stand 
aside  if  you  don't  want  to  be  taken  for  obstructing  the 
police." 

"  Come  and  make  me,  ye  big  oaf,"  challenged  the 
little  man,  and  swung  a  blow.  Hugh,  who  held  the 
heavy-weight  police  championship,  swayed  his  body  and 
the  Irishman  swung  half  round.  Hugh's  hand  descended 
on  his  collar  and  he  was  jerked  forward  into  half  a  dozen 
willing  hands  and  held  securely  while  a  little  rumble  of 
laughter  went  round. 

The  house,  like  most  of  the  others,  was  packed  with 
humanity,  and  as  the  river  man  had  suspected,  a  store 
at  the  back  full  of  rope  and  metal  explained  Tim's  un- 
willingness to  allow  unimpeded  access  to  the  premises. 

[  277  ] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


That,  however,  was  a  minor  matter  in  the  circumstances. 
Of  far  more  importance  was  the  fact  that  among  Tim's 
coterie  of  lodgers  was  only  one  who  had  not  been 
awakened.  He  was  sleeping  in  the  remote  corner  of  one 
room  with  his  face  turned  to  the  wall. 

Congreve  it  was  who  walked  over  and  casually  lifted 
the  blanket.  One  glimpse  he  took  and  the  next  moment 
he  had  his  arms  round  the  kicking,  cursing  occupant 
and  had  lifted  him  bodily  to  his  feet.  An  automatic 
pistol  dropped  on  the  floor  and  a  couple  of  men  hurried 
to  Congreve's  assistance.  The  struggle  was  brief. 

They  dragged  their  prisoner — he  was  fully  dressed — • 
towards  the  door  and  two  or  three  lights  fell  on  a  face 
that  was  distorted  with  rage — a  sallow,  thin  face  with 
a  hawk-like  nose,  and  high  cheek-bones  surmounted  by 
a  shock  of  thick,  curly  black  hair.  He  wore  a  reddish 
brown  suit  of  American  cut,  the  skirts  of  the  coat  sag- 
ging low  over  his  hips  and  the  wide  peg-top  trousers 
with  a  well-defined  crease.  Glaring  from  his  necktie 
was  an  enormous  pearl  pin — too  big  to  be  genuine. 

He  ceased  his  struggles  as  soon  as  he  realised  their 
futility,  and  stood  scowling  round  on  the  police.  "  Tell 
dem  gazebos  to  take  de  spotlight  off  me,"  he  complained. 
"  I  ain't  no  stage  prima-donna." 

"  Get  him  outside,"  ordered  Congreve.  "  The  guv- 
nor'll  want  to  see  him.5* 

He  walked  meekly  out  into  the  street  with  his  escort 
and  Congreve  sought  out  Menzies.  "  We've  pulled  one 
[278] 


thug  who  looks  a  possible,  sir,"  he  reported.  "  Big 
Rufe  Isaacs  shamming  asleep  in  his  clothes  with  a  gun 
by  his  side.  I  grabbed  him  quick  and  he  didn't  get  a 
chance  to  use  it." 

Menzies  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and  a  look  of 
interest  came  into  his  face.  "  Big  Rufe,  eh?  Good 

business.  Has  he  got  shiny  elbows  or  do  you  think 

This  isn't  the  kind  of  place  he'd  hang  out  in  while  he's 
got  dough." 

"  That's  what  I  thought  when  I  spotted  him.  He's  no 
bum.  Looks  as  if  he  could  afford  the  Carlton  if  he 
wanted  it  rather  than  Tim  Donovan's  doss-house." 

"  Fetch  him  along.  No.  Wait  a  bit.  Ask  the 
'  Three  Kings  '  to  let  us  have  a  room  and  cart  him  in 
there.  I'll  come  and  talk  to  him." 

Big  Rufe,  as  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  taken 
showed,  was  one  of  those  crooks  who  are  not  averse  from 
running  desperate  chances  and  probably  if  Congreve 
had  not  acted  as  quickly  as  he  did  murder  would  have 
been  set  alight  in  Tim  Donovan's  boarding-house.  Had 
he  had  brains  he  would  have  been  as  formidable  an  in- 
ternational criminal  as  Ling  himself.  But  he  had  no 
brains — only  an  immeasurable  audacity  and  a  degree 
of  cunning  that  had  carried  him  through  until  both  New 
York  and  London  had  got  to  know  him.  For  him  to 
embark  on  an  enterprise  unaided  was  to  court  imme- 
diate disaster,  and  after  tripping  several  times  he  had 
wit  enough  to  recognise  the  fact  and  to  attach  himself 

[  279  ] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


when  possible  to  the  banner  of  some  more  masterful 
crook  who  could  plan  as  well  as  execute.  He  was  an 
admirable  tool  when  working  under  directions  and  away 
from  liquor — a  skilled  mechanician  with  a  brute  courage 
that  had,  more  than  once,  got  him  into  trouble.  Like 
most  crooks  he  was  a  free  spender. 

Menzies  had  a  little  doubt  that  one  of  the  unknown 
factors  in  Ling's  gang  had  at  last  been  run  down.  Big 
Rufe,  out  of  luck  and  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket, 
might  have  been  found  in  an  East  End  doss-house  with- 
out any  deduction  being  necessarily  drawn  from  it ;  but 
Big  Rufe,  flush  and  well  dressed,  in  Levoine  Street  and 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand  could  have  only  one  explana- 
tion. 

The  man  was  palpably  uneasy  when  Menzies  walked 
in  upon  him.  The  chief  inspector  greeted  him  affably. 
"  Bad  job  this  of  yours,  sonny.  You  look  to  be  in  it 
bad." 

Rufe  had  all  the  philosophy  of  the  captured  crook. 
He  would  cheerfully  have  shot  Menzies  or  anyone  else 
if  by  doing  so  he  could  have  secured  a  chance  of  escape. 
But  once  taken  he  held  no  futile  animosity.  Violence, 
either  of  speech  or  action,  he  knew  would  be  merely 
silly.  His  mouth  glistened  with  gold  filling  as  he  smiled 
cheerfully. 

"  Not,"  he  ejaculated.  "  No  pen  for  mine.  If  you'se 
de  wise  guy  you'd  take  these  mittens  off."  He  shook 
his  wrists,  on  which  the  thoughtful  Congreve  had  taken 
[280] 


the  precaution  to  encircle  handcuffs.  "  Say,  this  will 
be  funny  stuff  for  the  Sunday  supplements  wit'  you 
Scotland  Yard  bulls,  I  don't  think !  What  do  you 
reckon  you're  holdin'  me  for,  huh?  " 

"  Persecuting  a  poor  down-trodden  American  citizen 
again,  Rufe,  eh?"  commented  Menzies.  "We  can't 
help  it.  It's  the  way  we're  built.  Let  us  down  light 
with  your  journalistic  pals." 

"  G'wan,"  commented  Rufe  shortly.  "  Cut  it  out." 
He  was  grinning,  but  there  was  an  uneasy  look  in  his 
eye.  The  usual  gambit  of  the  crook — and  it  does  not 
matter  what  grade  in  the  criminal  hierarchy  he  adorns — 
is  bluff  when  he  is  run  to  earth.  It  is  an  easy  weapon 
to  handle  and  can  do  little  harm  if  it  fails. 

"  Just  as  you  say,"  agreed  Menzies  amicably.  "  What 
are  you  doing  up  in  this  quarter,  Rufe?  I  thought 
Piccadilly  was  more  your  mark." 

The  other  was  ready.  "  There's  a  kiddo,  chief — y' 
know  I  wandered  down  to " 

"What's  her  name?" 

"  Enid  Samuels.     She " 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

"  Her  boss,  he's  got  a  little  cigar  factory  down  Com- 
mercial Road.  She's  a  cigar-maker.  Say,  chief,  you 
ought  to  see  her — she's  a  peacherino " 

"Aren't  you  wasting  time?"  said  Menzies  acidly. 
"  Look  here,  Rufe,  you  know  you'll  get  a  square  deal 
from  me.  You  didn't  come  to  meet  your  kiddo,  your 

[281] 


Enid,  your  jpeacherino,  with  a  gun.  You  didn't  expect 
to  find  her  in  Tim  Donovan's  kip,  did  you?  What  kind 
of  suckers  do  you  take  us  for  to  swallow  that?  You 
know  what  we  want.  Where's  Ling  and  the  others  lay- 
ing up?  " 

Rufe  blinked  several  times  in  succession.  "  Come 
again,"  he  murmured.  "  I  don't  get  you." 

The  chief  inspector  crossed  his  knees  and  eyed  the 
prisoner  placidly.  From  his  breast  pocket  he  took  an 
official  blue-coloured  document.  "  This  is  your  dull 
night,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked.  "  You  know  all  about  Eng- 
lish law,  I  reckon.  I  can't  put  you  in  the  sweat-box. 
A  police  officer  mustn't  ask  incriminating  questions  of 
a  man  he  intends  to  arrest.  I  can't  make  you  give  your- 
self away,  Rufe,  can  I?"  He  shook  a  menacing  fore- 
finger. 

The  prisoner  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily  and  his  inso- 
lent eyes  lost  something  of  their  boldness*.  He  was 
shaken  and  he  showed  it.  "  There  ain't  nothing  against 
me,  anyway,"  he  agreed. 

"  No."  There  was  an  intonation  of  polite  surprise 
in  Menzies'  voice.  "  Nothing  at  all.  Just  a  few  little 
things  like  arson  and  conspiracy  to  murder  don't  count 
in  this  game.  I  reckon  Gwennie  has  been  playing  you 
for  a  Rube." 

The  beady  black  eyes  caught  fire.  "  I  ain't  no- 
body's fool,"  he  cried.  "  Gwennie  can't  put  it  over  on 
me." 

[282] 


"  I'm  glad  you  feel  like  that,  Rufe."  From  Menzies' 
air  he  might  have  been  chatting  confidentially  with  an 
intimate  friend  in  whose  troubles  he  took  a  sympathetic 
interest.  "  Shows  a  trusting  nature."  Rufe  glowered 
at  him  suspiciously.  "  Funny,  though,  isn't  it?  Here's 
the  mob  of  you  go  out  for  a  hatful  and  when  you  miss 
your  jump  who  gets  left  behind?  Why,  Dago  Sam, 
and  Errol,  and  you.  Gwennie  isn't  in  the  basket,  I  bet 
you.  No,  nor  Ling,  either.  That's  what  I  mean  when 
I  say  they  played  you  for  a  Rube." 

Two  deep  vertical  lines  etched  themselves  in  Rufe's 
forehead  and  his  lower  jaw  dangled.  It  was  part  of  the 
soundness  of  the  detective's  position  that  the  other  did 
not  know  how  much  he  knew.  He  had  instilled  into 
Rufe  a  profound  distrust  of  his  confederates.  The 
crook  was  being  deftly  provided  with  a  new  point  of 
view  calculated  to  stir  the  idea  of  reprisal  in  his  mind. 
His  hands  opened  and  clenched. 

"  If  I  thought  that,"  he  said,  and  suddenly  paused 
and  raked  the  detective  with  his  gaze.  "  How  do  I 
know  you  ain't  stringin'  me?  "  he  demanded. 

Menzies  flung  his  hand  out  in  a  listless  gesture.  "  It 
doesn't  matter  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I  just  hate  to  see  folk 
double  crossed,  though."  He  leaned  forward.  "  D'ye 
see,  Rufe,  you  were  due  to  get  left  anyhow.  They  were 
using  you  to  pull  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  but 
do  you  reckon  you'd  have  been  in  at  the  share-out? 
I  don't." 

[283] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  That's  your  word,"  persisted  the  other  doubtingly. 
"You  want  me  to  squeal  on  'em.  You're  some  sleut'. 
Where  do  I  come  in  if  I  put  you  wise?  " 

"  I  get  'em  anyway,"  answered  Menzies  indifferently. 
"  You'd  maybe  save  some  time  and  trouble."  He  spread 
his  hands  out  wide.  "  You're  no  chicken,  Rufe.  You 
know  what  you're  in  for.  I  can't  help  that,  can  I?  I 
guess  you'll  take  whatever's  coming  to  you  like  a  white 
man.  But  after  the  dirty  way  they've  treated  you  you 
ought  to  get  a  come-back  on  them.  Hadn't  you  now  ?  " 

In  point  of  fact  Menzies  had  no  knowledge  as  to 
whether  Rufe  was  being  treated  fairly  or  not  by  his 
confederates.  He  was  working  on  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance. It  is  never  at  any  time  difficult  to  arouse  in 
the  mind  of  a  crook  a  surmise  that  he  is  being  double- 
crossed  by  his  associates.  Rufe  had  neither  the  skill 
nor  the  wit  to  conceal  in  his  features  the  fact  that  the 
seed  Menzies  had  sown  had  fallen  on  fertile  ground. 

"  I  guess  dem  gazebos  ain't  worrying  about  me 
any,"  he  admitted.  "  But  they're  in  it  as  bad  as 
me,  ain't  they,  chief?  "  He  shot  a  cunning  glance  at 
Menzies. 

"  Worse,"  agreed  that  individual.  "  Of  course, 
there's  that  little  job  of  Errol's,  but  I  know  you,  Rufe. 
You  wouldn't  go  for  to  do  a  thing  like  that  without  he 
properly  asked  for  it." 

It  was  a  long  shot,  but  by  no  means  a  shot  at  random. 
The  very  character  of  Big  Rufe  had  been  sufficient  to 

[284] 


convince  Menzies  that  here  he  held  the  most  likely 
author  of  the  knife  thrust  which  had  laid  up  Errol.  He 
spoke  casually,  as  though  the  fact  was  what  lawyers 
call  common  ground,  and  he  had  his  reward. 

"  You're  on  to  it,"  said  Rufe  eagerly.  "  Dat  guy 
was  too  fresh.  He  took  liberties,  you  understand,  and 
when  he  pulled  a  gun  on  me  he  got  what  was  coming  to 
him." 

The  chief  inspector's  face  was  immobile.  He  gave 
no  sign  of  having  scored  another  peg  in  his  investiga- 
tion. Leaning  over  against  the  door,  Congreve,  ap- 
parently more  interested  in  his  finger  nails  than  in  the 
conversation,  jerked  his  head  without  looking  up  and 
Menzies  knew  that  he  had  heard  and  appreciated  the 
importance  of  the  confession. 

"  You  know  what  you're  saying,  Rufe  ?  "  Menzies 
warned.  "  Of  course,  it  isn't  news  to  me,  but  I'll  have 
to  say  you  owned  up.  If  you  didn't  mean  it  I'll  forget 
it.  Not  that  it  will  make  much  odds." 

"  Sure  I  know,"  said  Rufe  with  a  definiteness  that 
showed  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  "  I  ain't  blind.  You 
guys  have  got  it  all  fixed  up  for  me  an'  I  don't  make 
any  trouble — see."  He  squared  his  shoulders.  "  Why 
should  I  be  denying  it  ?  If  it's  me  for  it  you  bet  I  want 
Ling  for  company." 

There  was  no  need  to  correct  the  crook's  impression 
that  his  admission  was  a  work  of  supererogation.  It 
made  things  promise  to  go  easier.  So  long  as  Big  Rufe 

[285] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


believed  that  things  were  utterly  hopeless  for  him  so 
long  would  he  do  his  best  to  see  that  he  wasn't  lonely  in 
the  dock. 

"  We'll  pull  him  presently,"  said  Menzies  con- 
fidentially. "  If  he's  inside  our  lines  he  can't  get 
away." 

The  gold  fillings  in  Rufe's  mouth  flashed  again.  He 
was  amused  and  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  it.  "  You're 
off  your  bearings  there,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  really 
think  you  get  Ling  as  easy  as  that,  do  you?  He  ain't 
inside  no  cordons.  No,  sir." 

For  half  a  second  Menzies  wondered  if  he  had  under- 
estimated Big  Rufe.  Was  the  man  as  simple  as  he 
seemed  or  was  he  trying  to  deftly  confuse  the  trail? 
The  reflection  was  swept  away  as  swiftly  as  it  had 
arisen.  Rufe  was  not  the  person  to  get  such  a  notion 
or  to  carry  it  out  if  he  did.  He  would  not  so  willingly 
have  committed  himself  to  save  his  dearest  friend. 

"  He  had  a  private  aeroplane  waiting,  I  suppose  ?  " 
he  said  with  heavy  irony. 

Rufe's  wide-mouthed  grin  extended  still  further.  "  En 
she  quay?  "  he  said  with  deliberate  mystery. 

"  En  she  quay  ?  "  Menzies  frowned.  "  Now  what 
the  blazes  do  you  mean  by  that?  You  aren't  trying  to 
come  the  funny  boy  on  me,  are  you,  Rufe?  " 

"  Huh."  Rufe  was  plainly  disgusted.  "  You're  a 
right  smart  Alick,  ain't  you,  not  to  know  what  that 
means  ?  " 

[286] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  My  education's  been  neglected.    Tell  me." 

Rufe  squinted  cunningly  sideways  at  his  interlocutor. 
"  I'm  telling  you  nothing — see  ?  If  any  mutt  says  I 
squealed,  I  didn't — see?  " 

Menzies  began  to  see  daylight.  "  Of  course,  you 
didn't,  Rufe.  You  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing.  I  get 
you." 

"  Why,"  went  on  Rufe  reminiscently  but  with  an  air 
of  intense  seriousness,  "  I  got  left  for  a  sucker  as  you 
said  just  now,  chief.  I  been  hanging  round  a  joint  back 
o'  this  street  with  Ling  lately.  Wa  could  see  Gwennie's 
place  from  the  back  window.  There's  a  room  there  she 
didn't  use  and  Ling  framed  it  up  wit'  her  only  this 
morning.  And  if  she  wanted  us  around  she  was  to  put 
a  handkerchief  across  one  of  the  panes  in  daylight  or 
light  up  a  candle  after  dark." 

The  chief  inspector  bit  his  lip.  The  possibility  of 
a  system  of  signalling  had  been  so  obvious  that  he  had 
overlooked  it. 

"  Well,  when  that  tin  horn  Cincinnati  came  nosing 
around  Gwennie  begins  to  smell  something  an'  she  tipped 
us  the  office.  You  better  bet  we  came  round  and  Ling 
and  Gwennie  fixed  the  show  for  fireworks.  I  didn't  have 
any  hand  in  that.  I  swear  I  didn't." 

"  Get  along,"  ordered  Menzies  sharply.  "  How'd 
they  get  away  ?  " 

"  Gwennie  took  her  chance  and  beat  it  out  the  back 
in  the  yards  before  we  put  a  light  to  the  place.  She's 

[  287  ] 


an  active  old  lady  for  her  age  and  she  seems  to  have  a 
sort  of  ruspect  for  you,  chief — kind  as  if  she  knew  you'd 
block  all  bolt-holes  from  the  front.  She  had  a  bit  of  an 
argument  with  Ling  about  it.  He  holds  that  there'd 
be  time  for  a  getaway  from  the  front  because  we  came 
that  way  and  calls  her  down  for  a  mutt  giving  the  game 
away  by  climbing  backyard  walls.  She  wouldn't  argue. 

*  If  you've   any  sense,   Stewart,'  says   she,   '  you'll  do 
what  I'm  going  to.     The  bulls'll  be  waitin'  outside  for 
Cincinnati.'     Dat  woman's  got  some  sense,  chief;  but 
Ling,  he  didn't  see  it.     And  I  didn't  reckon  there  was 
much  to  it  till  we  got  lit  up.     Ling,  he  stays  behind. 

*  You  go  see  if  the  old  lady's  got  it  straight,'  he  says. 

*  Day'se  not  looking  for  you  anyway.'    So  I  beat  it  and 
sees   the  cops  holding  everybody  up  just  as  the  fire- 
engines  come.    I  lights  back,  but  I  didn't  get  the  chance 
to  get  at  Ling.    But  he  must  have  tumbled  to  the  racket 
because  the  next  I  see  of  him  he  came  out  and  walked 
straight  down  the  street  and  through  your  lines,  boss, 
and  not  one  of  your  guys  was  wise  to  him.     He's  some 
nervy  is  Ling." 

"  You  mean  that  Ling  walked  right  through  our  men 
without  being  held  up?  " 

"  Sure.  If  I'd  have  thought  of  the  gag  I'd  have  done 
it,  too."  His  eyes  twinkled.  "  Can  you  figure  it  out." 

Menzies  bit  hard  at  a  mouthful  of  moustache.  Even 
Congreve  had  lost  all  interest  in  his  finger-nails.  Sud- 
denly the  senior  detective's  face  lightened.  "  Congreve," 

[288] 


he  said,  "  slip  out  and  find  what  fire  crews  have  gone 
away.  If  the  divisional  fire  superintendent  is  still  there 
ask  him  to  have  a  roll-call  taken." 

"  You'se  got  it,  boss — at  last,"  said  Big  Rufe. 


[  289  ] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THERE  was  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  among  the 
men  of  the  C.  I.  D.  as  knowledge  of  Ling's  escape  spread. 
Yet  the  simplicity  and  audacity  with  which  it  had  been 
carried  out  earned  for  it  a  chagrined  admiration.  Luck 
had  attended  the  crook  better  than  he  knew.  The  dis- 
trict fire  call  had  brought  steamers  from  many  stations 
and  some  of  the  firemen  were  strangers  to  each  other — 
a  fact  which  had  made  the  risk  of  detection  infinitely 
small. 

Nevertheless,  it  must  have  needed  an  iron  nerve  to 
have  waited  as  Ling  had  done  in  a  back  room  of  the 
blazing  building  till  the  moment  was  ripe  for  his  expe- 
dient. He  had  reckoned  astutely  enough  that  the  fire- 
men would  have  their  hands  full  at  the  front  of  the 
house  at  the  commencement  of  operations  and  that  at 
the  most  only  one  or  two  would  penetrate  through  by 
the  blazing  staircase  to  the  back  to  have  a  look  at 
things.  On  that  hypothesis  he  had  acted  and  the  first 
fireman  to  get  through  had  never  known  what  hit  him 
as  Ling  dropped  a  sandbag  across  the  nape  of  his  neck. 

It  had  taken  little  enough  time  to  change  the  man's 
outer  garments — the  brass  helmet,  the  heavy  jacket,  the 
trousers  and  big  sea-boots — but  even  so,  he  had  to  fight 
his  way,  choking  and  gasping,  through  the  smothering 
mixture  of  flame  and  smoke  to  the  open  air. 

[290] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


The  uniformed  police  at  the  lower  end  of  the  street 
remembered  a  fireman  with  grimed  face  and  bloodshot 
eyes — one  keen-eyed  officer  had  even  noticed  what  he 
took  to  be  a  bandage  under  the  helmet — come  towards 
them  at  a  lumbering  trot.  As  Ling  had  calculated, 
there  had  not  been  the  shadow  of  suspicion  in  their 
minds  as  breathlessly  he  had  ordered  them  to  make  way, 
muttering  "  We  want  to  see  if  we  can  get  at  it  from 
the  back."  And  so  he  had  vanished,  leaving  one  more 
victim  to  be  buried  in  the  ruins  of  the  burning  house. 

Mortifying  as  it  was,  no  one  could  justly  be  blamed. 
The  uniformed  police  had  acted  hastily  in  cutting  off 
access  to  and  from  Levoine  Street,  though  one  end  of 
the  street  which  backed  on  to  it — Paradise  Street — had 
been  included  in  the  cordon,  the  other  had  been  left 
open. 

The  mistake  had  been  an  easy  one  to  make.  Levoine 
Street  itself  ran  straight  as  a  pencil  its  entire  length; 
Paradise  Street,  on  the  other  hand,  ran  parallel  back 
to  back  with  Levoine  Street  for  perhaps  a  quarter  of 
its  length  and  then  swerved  widely  away  at  an  obtuse 
angle  which  brought  its  bottom  end  out  something  more 
than  half  a  mile  from  Levoine  Street.  If  Gwennie  Lyne 
had  scaled  the  back  walls  safely  she  could  have  reached 
the  house  in  Paradise  Street  from  the  back  and  escaped 
through  the  front  without  anyone  being  a  whit  the  wiser. 
Ling,  too,  would  have  made  for  Paradise  Street  if  only 
to  effect  a  change  back  into  normal  clothing. 

[291] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


All  this  had  now  become  apparent  to  Weir  Menzies 
and  blackened  his  brow  and  soured  his  temper  as  he 
reflected  how  easily  it  might  have  been  avoided.  His 
cordon  of  detectives  had  been  wider  and  had  included 
Paradise  Street  until  he  had  weakened  it  by  calling  in 
some  of  the  men.  However,  there  was  little  to  be  gained 
by  repining.  The  back  yards  of  the  houses  in  Levoine 
Street  had  already  been  scoured  and  now  a  second  party 
of  searchers  was  at  work  among  them,  though  hope  of 
picking  up  any  trace  of  Gwennie  was  feeble.  The  only 
chance  was  that  if  she  tried  to  get  away  from  Paradise 
Street  she  might  be  brought  up  by  one  of  the  outlying 
detective  patrols. 

Although  the  search  of  the  cut  off  area  seemed  now  a 
waste  of  time,  Menzies  gave  no  instructions  for  it  to 
cease.  There  was  alwaj's  a  possibility,  however  faint  it 
might  be.  His  main  hopes  were  centred  on  Big  Rufe. 

"  What's  the  number  of  that  shanty  in  Paradise 
Street  where  you  and  Ling  were  hanging  out?  "  he 
asked. 

Rufe  gave  it  readily  enough.  "  You  don't  reckon 
they'll  be  waiting  there  for  you,  do  you?"  he  asked. 
"  I  guess  you'll  find  the  curb  scorched,  they  got  away 
so  fast." 

The  same  idea  was  in  Menzies'  mind.  He  would 
cheerfully  have  given  odds  of  a  million  to  one  on  it,  but 
nevertheless  the  place  had  to  be  gone  through.  He 
drew  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  the  prisoner. 

[292] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  What  did  you  mean  just  now  by  '  en  she  quay  '  ?  " 
he  asked. 

Rufe  shook  his  head  doggedly.  "  No  guy  ain't  goin* 
to  say  I  gave  Ling  away,"  he  persisted.  He  was  ap- 
parently obsessed  with  something  of  that  curious  trick 
of  mind  which  will  induce  a  dishonest  witness  with  some 
shreds  of  conscience  to  kiss  a  thumb  instead  of  the 
testament  in  court  under  the  impression  that  perjury  is 
thereby  avoided. 

Menzies  recognised  the  attitude.  Rufe  had  had  no 
objections  to  betraying  Ling,  but  he  would  not  def- 
initely give  away  his  fresh  hiding  place.  He  wanted  to 
feel  that  he  could  deny  having  done  so  if  occasion  war- 
ranted and  he  was  giving  a  hint  capable  of  only  one 
construction.  A  less  self-controlled,  less  experienced 
man  than  Menzies  might  have  been  exasperated.  The 
crook  had  been  plain  enough  except  on  this  one  point. 
To  argument  and  expostulation  alike  he  blandly  shook 
his  head. 

There  was,  it  seemed  to  Menzies,  a  chance  of  it  being 
a  piece  of  recondite  American  slang.  If  that  was  so 
it  was  new  to  him. 

He  sent  Rufe  away  to  the  police-station  under  escort 
and  strolled  out  himself  to  see  how  things  were  progress- 
ing. It  was  getting  on  to  one  o'clock  and  the  house-to- 
house  search  was  on  the  point  of  finishing.  Congreve 
loomed  up  through  the  drizzle. 

"  No   go,   sir,"    he    reported.      "  House   as   bare    as 

[293] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Mother  Hubbard's  cupboard  except  for  some  tinned 
stuff,  some  stale  bread  and  half-a-dozen  travelling 
rugs.  Front  door  and  the  yard  door  were  both 
open." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,"  said  Menzies.  "  We  don't  seem 
to  have  any  luck,  do  we?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  Congreve  smiled  behind  his  hand 
at  his  chief's  impatience.  "  If  you  don't  mind  my  say- 
ing so,  sir,  it  seems  to  me  we  haven't  much  to  grumble 
about.  A  week  ago  we  were  right  in  the  cart.  Now  we 
do  know  the  story  and  we  know  the  murderer." 

"  Yep.  And  you've  been  long  enough  in  the  service, 
Congreve,  to  know  that  troubles  only  begin  when  a 
man  is  spotted.  Tell  me  what  *  en  she  quay  '  means 
and  you'll  be  talking  sense." 

"  Give  it  up,"  said  Congreve  decisively. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  knock  off  now  and  go  up  and 
see  Mr.  Foyle.  We've  about  cleared  up  here.  You 
might  ask  some  of  the  boys  about  that.  Perhaps  some 
of  'em  may  know.  Where's  Royal?  " 

"  Dry  nursing  Hallett  in  the  *  Three  Kings  '." 

"  On  my  soul  I  nearly  forgot  about  him,"  declared 
Menzies  and  hurried  away. 

He  found  Hallett  and  Royal,  who  appeared  to  have 
become  fairly  intimate,  swopping  tall  stories  in  the 
public-house  with  Cincinnati  Red  as  an  interested  on- 
looker. Peggy  Greye-Stratton  had  long  ago  been  sent 
away  to  Menzies'  house.  Royal  stopped  in  the  middle 
[294] 


of  a  creditable  imitation  of  the  peculiarities  of  a  certain 
famous  judge.  The  chief  inspector  stood  regarding 
them  for  a  minute.  "  Well,  boys,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
"  I  suppose  you  know  the  show  is  over  for  to-night, 
We've  been  diddled  again." 

"  Some  gink,"  murmured  Hallett  softly. 

"  You  don't  get  my  goat,  my  lad,"  smiled  Menzies. 

"  Ling  seemed  to  manage  fairly  well,"  smiled  Jimmie. 
"  You're  finding  out  you've  got  a  man's  size  job,  aren't 
you  ?  All  right  " — as  Menzies  moved  threateningly 
towards  him — "  I  take  it  all  back.  You're  it.  The  real 
Sherlock.  You  could  eat  a  dozen  Lings  before  break- 
fast, just  to  get  an  appetite.  Keep  off.  I  apologise. 
I  beg  pardon.  I  eat  dirt.  I  " — he  gurgled. 

"  Seriously,  though,"  said  Menzies,  "  I'm  shutting 
up  shop  for  to-night.  It's  after  closing  hours,  but 
we'll  see  if  we  can  get  one  drink  if  we  talk  kindly  to  the 
landlord — all  except  Hallett." 

"  Me?  "  said  Jimmie.     "  You  think  I'm  drunk?  " 

"  Well,"  Menzies  drawled,  "  I've  known  men  go  up 
in  the  air  with  less  reason.  Say,  I'll  let  you  have  that 
drink  and  own  up  you're  sober  if  you'll  answer  one 
question." 

"  Shoot,"  said  Hallett. 

"  What  does  '  en  she  quay  '  mean?  " 

Jimmie  bent  his  brows  in  painful  thought.  At  last 
he  shook  his  head.  "  That's  one  on  me.  I'll  bite."  He 
waited  expectant. 

[295] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


"  It  isn't  a  catch,"  explained  Menzies.  "  I  want  to 
know." 

Cincinnati  Red  looked  up.  "  I've  got  an  idea  what 
you're  driving  at,"  he  said.  "  I  ought  to  have  caught 
on  before,  only  I  didn't  think  of  it.  I've  heard  that 
Ling  hits  the  pipe.  I  don't  know  for  sure.  He's  never 
let  on." 

"  An  opium  smoker?  " 

"  Sure.  That's  what  '  en  she  quay  '  means.  They 
say  that  he's  been  a  dope  fiend  for  years.  That  ex- 
plains why  he  goes  all  to  pieces  sometimes.  He  can't 
keep  away  from  it  for  long." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment.  Both  Menzies 
and  Hallett  had  forgotten  their  duel  of  badinage.  The 
chief  inspector's  face  was  very  thoughtful.  There 
could  be  no  over-estimating  the  value  of  the  knowledge — > 
knowledge  which  was  likely  to  shorten  the  pursuit  by 
no  one  knew  how  long.  Like  many  important  clues  it 
had  come  out,  as  it  were,  by  accident — an  accident 
nevertheless  that  would  not  have  happened  but  for  the 
search  of  Levoine  Street. 

Instead  of  having  to  begin  again  the  hunt  for  Ling — 
anywhere,  everywhere — there  was  a  fixed  point  on  which 
to  focus.  Menzies  knew  something  of  the  craving  which 
men  will  take  terrible  risks  to  satisfy.  Even  in  flight 
no  man  ridden  by  the  habit  would  put  himself  out  of 
reach  of  the  drug.  Reasoning  as  he  imagined  Ling1 
would  reason,  it  would  be  perfect  policy  to  lay  up  in 

[  296  ] 


one  of  those  illicit  dens  which  in  spite  of  police  vigilance 
exist  near  the  docks  of  every  great  port.  For  his  own 
sake  the  versatile  Chinese  takes  ample  precautions 
against  a  raid.  In  ordinary  circumstances  such  a  place 
would  be  the  last  in  which  Ling  would  be  looked  for. 

"  That  looks  good  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  think 
I'll  be  able  to  stop  for  that  drink,  after  all.  You  ever 
smoked  opium?  "  He  addressed  Cincinnati. 

"  I've  tried  the  dope,"  admitted  the  "  con  "  man.  "  I 
keep  off  it  now.  Bad  for  the  nerves." 

"  Then  you're  the  man  I  want.  You'll  know  the  gags 
and'll  be  able  to  prompt  me.  Come  along.'*  He  seized 
the  other's  coat-sleeve.  Cincinatti  sat  tight,  passively 
resisting  the  pressure. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Find  if  there's  any  opium  joint  round  about  here 
and  run  through  it  with  you." 

Cincinnati  did  not  seem  to  find  the  programme  en- 
ticing. He  was  too  close  to  the  bad  quarter  of  an  hour 
spent  recently  on  the  same  quest.  "  Nix,"  he  said  em- 
phatically. "  It's  your  business,  Mr.  Menzies,  and 
maybe  you'd  like  to  see  it  through.  But  it  isn't  mine 
by  a  long  chalk.  I've  had  all  the  excitement  I  want  to- 
night and  the  quaint  little  yellow  man  won't  be  disturbed 
by  me." 

"Afraid?"  sneered  Menzies. 

"  I  am,"  admitted  the  "  con  "  man  bluntly.  "  I've 
done  all  you  asked  me  to,  but  I'm  no  sleuth  and  there 

[297] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


won't  be  any  pension  for  my  widows  and  orphans  if 
somebody  hands  me  one.  Why  don't  you  take  one  of 
your  staff?  " 

"  Because  they've  mostly  cleared  away  home  and  I 
don't  want  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  hunting  for  the 
right  man.  I  want  to  get  after  Ling  right  now." 

"  Say,"  drawled  Jimmie.  "  Aren't  you  getting  on 
too  fast.  You  don't  even  know  that  Ling  is  in  an  opium 
joint,  and  if  you  did  you  don't  know  where  the  joint  is." 

Menzies'  brow  corrugated.  "  I'll  find  it,"  he  answered 
grimly.  "  It  isn't  the  finding  of  it  that  worries  me." 

"  Then,  Sherlock,"  said  Jimmie,  "  since  our  friend 
Whiff  en  has  waived  the  honour  why  not  let  me  be  M.  C. 
I'll  own  that  I  didn't  know,  or  have  forgotten,  the  mean- 
ing of  '  en  she  quay,'  but  I'm  no  tenderfoot  when  it 
comes  to  opium  joints.  I  think  I  might  bluff  any  China- 
man you're  likely  to  run  across.  I  have  had  some  ex- 
perience in  San  Francisco." 

"  You  think  you  can  get  us  in  if  I  find  the  j  oint  ?  I 
don't  want  any  trouble  so  that  he  can  slip  out  a  back 
way  while  we're  arguing  at  the  front.  It's  got  to  be 
done  quietly.  Remember,  he's  killed  one  man  in  order 
to  get  away  to-night  and  he  won't  stand  on  ceremony 
with  us." 

"  I'll  be  discreet,"  promised  Jimmie.  "  I  shan't  make 
any  trouble  unless  it  comes.  You  bank  on  little 
Willie." 

Menzies  gave  a  curt  nod.  "  Very  well.  That's  a 
[298] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


bet.  You  wait  here  and  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or  less. 
You  needn't  stop  unless  you  want  to,  Cincinnati.  I'll 
not  forget  you  did  your  best  for  us  to-night."  He 
moved  swiftly  away. 

"  Queer  chap,  your  chief,"  commented  Jimmie  to 
Royal.  "  How  can  he  expect  to  find  the  place  in  an 
hour?  If  the  police  had  any  information  about  one  I 
suppose  they'd  have  raided  it  long  ago." 

"  If  he  says  he'll  locate  one  in  an  hour  you  bet  he'll 
do  it,"  declared  Royal.  "  He's  that  kind  of  man. 
There's  very  few  people  who  can  walk  over  Weir 
Menzies  and  get  away  with  it,  and  Ling  isn't  one.  The 
guv'nor's  always  got  something  up  his  sleeve.  Once  he 
gets  his  teeth  into  a  case  like  this  one  you  can  break 
his  jaw  but  you  won't  make  him  let  go." 

"  I  owe  him  something,"  said  Jimmie,  "  though  I  like 
getting  at  that  everlasting  dignity  of  his.  He  doesn't 
seem  willing  to  admit  that  he  can  make  a  mistake. 
Here's  a  bad  blunder  to-night,  for  the  instance.  Surely 
on  a  job  like  this  it  would  have  been  simpler  to  take 
the  house  with  a  rush  instead  of  messing  around  and 
letting  everybody  of  any  importance  slip  through  his 
fingers." 

"  I  wish  I  was  an  amateur  detective,"  said  Royal 
solemnly.  "  It  looks  easy,  don't  it.  Just  chew  on  this, 
though.  All  Mr.  Menzies  knew  about  that  house  was 
that  Ling  had  been  there  last  night.  That  was  no 
proof  that  he  was  there  to-night.  If  we'd  raided  that 

[299] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


place  and  found  neither  Gwennie  nor  Ling  there  where 
would  we  have  been  now?  " 

"  Just  where  you  are,"  argued  Hallett  doggedly. 
"  You  haven't  got  'em  now,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  deliver  us,"  ejaculated  Royal  wearily.  "  Can't 
you  see  that  he  had  to  make  certain  before  running  a 
raid?  The  news  would  have  been  all  over  the  shop  in 
two  ticks  and  if  our  birds  had  been  laying  up  elsewhere 
they'd  have  flown  and  we  wouldn't  have  stood  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  of  catching  up  with  'em.  Got  that?  Very 
well.  The  guvnor  arranges  to  see  if  they're  at  home 
before  jumping.  If  they  hadn't  been  we'd  have  waited 
for  'em  to  walk  into  the  trap.  You  turn  that  endways 
and  upside  down  and  inside  out  and  see  if  there's  any 
flaw  in  it.  As  it  is  we've  bagged  one  of  the  small  fry 
of  the  gang,  filled  up  practically  all  our  evidence  and 
got  the  tip  where  to  look  for  Ling." 

"  Luck,"  persisted  Jimmie.  "  I  never  said  he  had  no 
luck." 

"  It's  the  sort  of  luck  that's  got  a  way  of  following 
Weir  Menzies.  Of  course,  he  goes  off  the  line  some- 
times, but  he's  only  human.  It's  only  in  books  that 
detectives  never  go  wrong.  If  Weir  Menzies  was  that 
sort  of  detective — why,  he  wouldn't  be  in  the  C.  I.  D. ; 
he'd  have  Rockefeller  and  Vanderbilt  and  Rothschild 
in  his  vest  pocket.  The  C.  I.  D.,"  he  concluded  gloom- 
ily, "never  gets  justice  done  to  'em  in  print — except 
perhaps  in  '  Judicial  Statistics  '." 

[300] 


Jimmie  grinned  at  the  heat  of  Menzies'  defender.  "  I 
never  said  he  was  a  dub,"  he  declared. 

"  You  never  said  so.  That's  what  you  meant  all  the 
same,"  replied  Royal  with  warmth.  "  You've  just  seen 
seme  of  the  surface  parts  of  his  operations  and  you 
don't  know  either  the  resources  or  the  limitations  of 
the  machine  he  is  driving.  No  detective  that  was  ever 
built  could  stand  for  a  day  alone  against  organised 
crime.  You  let  a  marked  grasshopper  down  in  a  ten- 
acre  field  and  set  somebody  else  the  business  of  catching 
him.  That's  about  as  easy  as  some  of  the  jobs  that 
come  our  way.  Luck  !  Huh !  " 

"  You've  convinced  me,"  said  Jimmie  solemnly. 
"  You've  got  Vidocq,  Sherlock  Holmes,  Dupin,  Cleek, 
Sexton  Blake  and  all  the  rest  of  'em  beaten  to  a 
frazzle." 

"You  ready?"  said  the  voice  of  Menzies  from  the 
doorway. 


[301] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IT  is  no  reflection  upon  the  activity  of  the  divisional 
police  that  there  should  be  an  undiscovered  opium  joint 
in  Shadwell.  There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world 
between  a  deliberate  search  with  a  definite  object  and 
a  preventive  vigilance  much  spread  out.  Menzies  had 
special  reason  to  believe  that  an  opium  den  existed 
somewhere  in  the  district  and  it  became  a  question 
merely  of  locating  it. 

That  problem  was  not  so  formidable  as  it  looked.  It 
all  turned  on  a  question  of  advertisement. 

Even  illicit  trades  must  advertise.  A  gambling-house, 
a  whisky  still  or  an  opium  joint  do  it  in  different  ways 
from  the  proprietors  of  a  breakfast  food,  but  in  essence 
it  is  the  same.  They  must  have  their  public — a  definite 
circle  of  patrons  to  keep  trade  humming.  Sooner  or 
later  some  hint  inevitably  reaches  the  ear  of  authority 
and  the  cleverest  keepers  of  such  places  time  their  flit- 
tings  accordingly. 

Although  Menzies  did  not  analyse  the  mental  process 
that  had  made  him  so  confidently  assert  that  he  would 
find  the  opium  den  in  an  hour  it  is  probable  that  he 
relied  on  these  facts  rather  than  on  any  hope  of  melo- 
dramatic deductions.  It  is  a  pity  to  spoil  a  popular 
illusion,  but  it  is  true  that  the  greatest  detective  sue- 
[302] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


cesses  in  real  life  are  achieved  simply  by  asking  ques- 
tions in  the  right  way  of  the  right  person. 

His  starting  point  was  the  landlord  of  "  The  Three 
Kings  "  public-house. 

That  gentleman,  an  elderly,  hatchet-faced  individual 
with  a  temper  much  soured  by  dyspepsia,  was  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  leaning  on  the  counter  of  the  public  bar. 
Formally  the  place  was  closed  in  accordance  with  the 
licensing  regulations  and  he  was  simply  waiting  until  it 
pleased  Menzies  and  his  companions  to  turn  out.  Had 
they  been  other  than  police  officials  they  would  have 
been  shunted  into  the  cold  street  at  the  stroke  of  half- 
past  twelve. 

"  Hope  we're  not  keeping  you  up,  Mr.  Pickens,"  said 
Menzies  pleasantly.  "  Been  good  of  you  to  put  up  with 
our  crowd.  Still,  I  suppose  it's  been  good  for  trade. 
Can't  grumble,  eh?  " 

He  passed  over  his  cigar-case. 

The  publican  grunted,  inspected  the  cigars  with  de- 
liberation and  finally  selected  one  which  met  his  ap- 
proval. "  Don't  do  the  neighbourhood  no  good  this 
kind  of  thing,"  he  growled  as  he  clipped  off  the  end. 
He  spoke  as  though  the  reputation  of  a  high-class  resi- 
dential district  had  been  ruined. 

Menzies  leaned  an  elbow  on  the  bar  and  crossed  his 
legs.  "  A  pity,  a  pity,"  he  said  indolently.  "  Still  we 
have  to  take  it  as  it  comes.  Wonder  what  made  those 
rotters  pitch  on  this  street  ?  "  he  pursued  speculatively. 

[303] 


"  Talking  about  queer  characters,  Mr.  Pickens,  do  you 
ever  get  any  Chinese  in  here  ?  " 

"  Not  one  in  a  blue  moon." 

"  I  was  wondering  if  this  dope  shop  hit  you  hard?  " 

"  Y'  mean  opium,  don't  you  ?  Naw,  that  don't  touch 
me!" 

"None  of  your  regulars  hit  the  pipe,  then?  There 
used  to  be  a  lot  of  it  round  here  ten  years  ago."  Pickens 
had  said  that  he  had  only  had  the  house  seven  years. 
Menzies  could  hazard  the  statement. 

"That  so?  The  only  bloke  I  know  that  touches  it 
now  is  old.Chawley  Bates.  Comes  'ome  this  way  early 
of  a  mornin'  sometimes,  and  regular  swills  cawfee. 
Reckon  it  pulls  him  together." 

Menzies  sized  up  his  man.  He  wished  now  he  had 
made  a  few  enquiries  about  Pickens  from  the  local  men. 
"  The  Three  Kings  "  was  known  as  a  resort  of  persons 
who  had  no  great  love  for  the  police.  Still,  the  keeper 
of  a  pub  may  have  the  shadiest  customers  and  yet  be 
an  entirely  straight  man.  The  detective  determined 
to  chance  it.  He  took  some  gold  out  of  his  pocket  and 
slowly  and  absently  dropped  ten  sovereigns  from  one 
hand  to  the  other.  Then  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  other 
man. 

"  It's  worth  just  ten  quid  to  me,"  he  said  distinctly, 
"  to  find  out  where  this  opium  shop  is.  No  one  will 
ever  know  who  told  me."  He  held  the  closed  fist  con- 
taining the  gold  out  at  arm's  length. 

[304] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Pickens'  eyes  glistened  and  he  straightened  himself 
out  to  full  length.  "  I'm  on,"  he  said.  "  You'd  better 
leave  it  tc  me.  If  old  Chawley's  at  'ome  I'll  git  it  out 
of  'im."  He  was  putting  on  his  jacket  as  he  spoke. 

He  refused  the  detective's  company  and  went  out. 
Menzies  did  not  rejoin  Hallett  and  Royal,  but  reclining 
with  one  elbow  on  the  counter  smoked  stolidly  and 
thoughtfully  till  his  return.  Pickens  was  back  within 
half  an  hour.  He  took  a  dirty  scrap  of  paper  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket  and  passed  it  to  the  detective. 

"  There  y'  are,"  he  said.  "  I  wrote  it  dahn  to  make 
sure.  It's  a  little  general  shop  kept  by  a  Chink — Sing 
Loo.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  knock  at  the  side  door 
and  ask  if  they  can  oblige  you  with  a  bottle  of  lime- 
juice  and  a  screw  o'  shag.  That's  the  pass-word. 
Where's  that  tenner?" 

Menzies  put  the  money  into  his  hand  and  moved 
swiftly  to  where  Hallett  and  Royal  awaited  him.  In  a 
little  they  were  out  in  the,  by  now,  almost  deserted  street. 
The  chief  inspector  set  the  pace  and  they  moved  at  a 
swift  walk.  No  one  spoke  for  a  while.  Once  Menzies 
stopped  a  policeman  with  an  enquiry  as  to  direction 
and  five  minutes  later  they  entered  a  short  street 
bounded  on  one  side  by  a  high  blank  factory  wall  and 
on  the  other  by  a  few  small  shuttered  shops. 

"  That's  the  joint,"  said  Menzies  in  a  low  voice,  keep- 
ing his  head  straight  in  front  of  him.     "  Mark  it  as  we 
go  by.    That  one  with  '  Sing  Loo  '  on  the  fa9ia." 
[305] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


They  swung  by  at  a  smart  pace  and  took  the  first 
turning  to  the  right.  Not  until  they  had  walked  for 
ten  minutes  did  Menzies  speak  again.  "  Either  of  you 
chaps  got  a  gun?  " 

Royal  thrust  a  bull-dog  revolver  into  his  hands. 

"  Not  for  me,"  said  Menzies.  "  You  got  one,  Hal- 
lett?  " 

"  Not  here,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  You  take  this,  then ;  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  hit 
anything  with  it,  anyhow."  He  halted  and  shook  a 
warning  forefinger.  "  Don't  get  using  it  unless  you've 
got  to.  I  want  Ling  alive.  Now,  Royal,  you'll  have  to 
hang  about  and  use  your  own  discretion  once  we're  in 

Hello !  What  the  blazes  is  a  taxi  doing  in  this 

quarter  at  this  time  of  night?  " 

A  taxi-cab  whizzed  by  them  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  had  come.  It  is  not  a  mode  of  conveyance 
largely  favoured  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  back  streets 
of  Shadwell,  even  in  the  daytime.  In  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning  it  is  probably  as  rare  as  an  aero- 
plane. 

As  though  the  same  thought  had  simultaneously  oc- 
curred to  each  of  them,  the  three  raced  after  the  retreat- 
ing vehicle.  It  was,  of  course,  a  hopeless  chase,  but 
there  are  moments  when  men  do  not  stop  to  reason. 
Menzies  was  the  first  to  pull  up. 

"  Take  it  steady,  boys,"  he  said.  "  We're  only  wast- 
ing breath.  The  thing's  a  mile  away  by  now." 

[306] 


"  Likely  enough  it's  nothing  to  do  with  us,"  said 
Royal  optimistically. 

"  I've  got  a  sort  of  feeling  that  it  has,  all  the  same. 
Well  I'll  be  petrified !  Here  it  comes  again.  Stop  it." 

They  spread  across  the  road,  Royal  flashing  an  elec- 
tric torch  as  he  moved.  The  three  bawled  fiercely  to 
the  driver.  For  a  moment  he  slackened  speed  as  though 
about  to  stop.  Then,  as  if  he  had  changed  his  mind, 
the  vehicle  leapt  swiftly  forward. 

Jimmie  had  a  scant  five  seconds  of  time  in  which  to 
make  up  his  mind.  His  hand  closed  on  the  revolver 
and  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  only  one  thing1 
to  do.  The  bonnet  of  the  car  was  within  a  yard  of  him 
when  he  leapt  aside  and  pulled  the  trigger.  With  a  shiv- 
ering rattle  the  vehicle  stopped.  Menzies  was  at  the 
driver's  side  in  an  instant. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stop  when  you  were  ordered  ?  "  he 
demanded  in  a  blaze  of  wrath.  "  What's  your  num- 
ber?" 

"  Why  should  I  stop  ?  Who  are  you  ?  What  busi- 
ness is  it  of  yours  anyway?  If  you've  smashed  my 
radiator —  The  man's  voice  was  less  certain  than 

his  words. 

"  We're  police  officers,"  said  Menzies  curtly.  "  Why 
— what's  the  matter,  Royal?  " 

Royal  had  opened  the  door  and  his  cry  now  inter- 
rupted his  chief.  Menzies  dropped  back  to  him  and 
followed  the  segment  of  light  directed  from  the  ser- 

[307] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


geant's  pocket  lamp  to  the  interior  of  the  cab.  It  fell 
full  on  the  white  lifeless  face  of  a  woman  leaning  hud- 
dled up  in  one  of  the  corners.  He  gave  an  ejaculation 
of  surprise.  The  driver  had  descended  from  his  seat 
and  was  peering  over  the  shoulders  of  the  three. 

"  Good  Gawd !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  She's  fainted." 

"  She's  dead,"  said  Menzies. 

He  wheeled  and  his  strong  fingers  bit  deep  into  the 
driver's  shoulders.  "  Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  "  he 
demanded.  "  Speak  the  truth  or  I'll  shake  it  out  of 
you." 

The  man  gazed  helplessly  up  at  him.  "  Strike  me 
lucky,  guv'nor,  I  don't  know  nothing  about  it,"  he  de- 
clared. "  She  was  alive  two  minutes  ago.  There  was 
a  bloke  with  her.  Where's  he  gone?  " 

Jimmie  felt  an  eerie  sensation  along  his  scalp.  He 
had  gazed  at  the  dead  face,  ghastly  in  the  rays  of  the 
pocket  torch  which  picked  it  out  against  the  darkness 
of  the  upholstering  and,  like  the  others,  he  had  recog- 
nised at  once  the  features  of  Gwennie  Lyne. 

He  had  expected,  he  knew  not  what,  when  he  peered 
into  the  cab — perhaps  Ling  himself.  Certainly  not  that 
grim  dead  face  with  the  staring  eyes.  He  shuddered. 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it — quick,"  ordered  Menzies. 
"  We've  no  time  to  waste.  Come  on,  out  with  it."  He 
shook  the  man  fiercely.  "  Everything,  mind  you,  and 
get  to  the  point," 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  repeated  the  man 
[308] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


again.  "  I  was  called  by  telephone  from  the  cab  rank 
in  Aldgate — told  how  to  get  here  and  everything." 

"Get  where?" 

"  Why,  to  that  Chinaman's  place " 

"Sing  Loo?" 

"  Yes.  That's  the  name.  There  was  a  couple  of 
fares  there  they  said  wanted  to  get  to  Shepherd's  Bush. 
So  I  come  along  here.  Seems  like  they  were  waiting 
for  me,  because  directly  I  touched  the  bell  the  door 
opened  and  there  was  a  tall  bloke  and  her."  He  jerked 
his  head  towards  the  cab.  "  The  bloke  had  his  arm 
round  her  and  she  walked  with  him  to  the  cab.  He 
helped  her  in  and  then  came  round  to  me.  *  The  lady 
isn't  very  well,  driver,'  he  says.  '  I'm  a  doctor  and  I'm 
going  with  her  to  a  specialist  at  Shepherd's  Bush.  Drive 
easy  because  I  don't  want  her  jolted  more  than  can  be 
helped.'  With  that  he  gets  into  the  cab — at  least  the 
door  slams  just  as  if  he  had  and  I  drive  off.  That's 
all  I  know  about  it,  guv'nor,  so  'elp  me." 

"  You  didn't  know  she'd  been  stabbed?  " 

He  shook  his  head  dumbly.  Menzies  released  his  grip. 
"  Royal,  you'll  have  to  handle  this  for  the  time.  Go 
to  the  nearest  doctor  first  and  have  her  examined. 
Come  along,  Hallett." 

He  caught  hold  of  Jimmie's  elbow  and  without  an- 
other look  at  the  cab  and  its  grim  burden  started 
eagerly  forward.  "  It  looks  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  as  though  he  was  talking  to  himself,  "  that  we're 

[309] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


only  just  in  time.  Ling  has  struck  a  snag  somehow. 
He  must  have  intended  to  lie  up  just  as  I  said  and 
Gwennie  and  he  have  quarrelled  somehow.  If  he'd  meant 
to  lay  her  out  he'd  have  done  it  when  it  was  less  awk- 
ward for  himself.  As  it  is  he  was  pushed  to  get  the 
body  away,  or  he  wouldn't  have  sent  for  a  taxi  and  left 
a  trail  right  back  to  this  joint.  He  means  to  vacate 
quick,  and  that  cab  would  have  gone,  in  the  ordinary 
way,  to  the  other  end  of  London  before  we  were  on 
to  it." 

"  You  think  we'll  get  him  this  time  ?  " 
"  It's   he   or  I  for   it   now,"   said  Menzies   grimly. 
66  Here  we  are." 

He  pressed  the  little  electric  button  at  the  side  door. 


[310] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  door  was  flung  candidly  open  and  a  young  Chi- 
nese, clad  in  jersey,  trousers  supported  by  a  belt,  and 
his  feet  in  carpet  slippers,  faced  the  pair.  He  gave 
not  the  slightest  sign  of  astonishment  or  even  of  enquiry. 
His  narrow  eyes  blinked  once  or  twice  as  he  stood,  one 
hand  on  the  door-knob,  waiting  for  them  to  announce 
their  business. 

Menzies  swayed  a  little  and  there  was  a  touch  of  inde- 
cision in  his  voice.  "  I  want  a  drink,"  he  announced. 
"A  drinka  lime  juice.  Me  an'  my  frien'  both  want  a 
drink  of  lime  juice  an' — an'  a  screw  o'  shag." 

"  Come  light  in,"  said  the  Chinese,  and  stood  aside. 
"  You  want  Sing  Loo.  I  go  fetch  him." 

A  second  door  barred  the  passage  a  few  feet  farther 
along  and  he  glided  noiselessly  towards  it.  Menzies 
reached  out  to  restrain  him  and  then  thought  better  of 
it.  The  young  man — evidently  a  sort  of  hall-keeper — • 
scratched  lightly  with  his  nail  at  a  panel  and  someone 
opened  a  tiny  trap-door  and  a  face  peered  through. 
Jimmie  realised  that  they  were  standing  under  the  full 
glare  of  a  gas  jet  and  subject  to  the  full  scrutiny  of 
the  man  behind  the  wicket. 

There  was  a  rapid  interchange  of  words  in  incompre- 
hensible language  and  then  the  click  of  a  latch.  An 
elderly  Chinese  with  long  grey  moustache  and  wrinkled 

[311] 


yellow  skin  came  towards  them  and  the  door  closed 
again.  He  spread  out  his  hands  in  a  sort  of  low 
obeisance. 

"  Solly,  gentlemen,"  he  murmured  softly.  "  You 
want  pipe?  "  He  regarded  them  sideways  out  of  his 
slits  of  eyes  with  an  expression  of  artfulness.  "  Solly." 

"  Wot  in  'ell  you  palavering  about  ?  "  demanded  Men- 
zies  thickly.  "  Wot  are  you  sorry  for?  Me  an'  my 
mate  'ere  wants  a  smoke.  Just  off  the  '  Themistocles,' 
y'  know.  We  can  pay." 

The  old  Chinaman  spread  out  his  hands  and  lowered 
his  head  humbly.  "  Solly,"  he  repeated.  "  You've 
made  a  mistake.  My  fliend  six  dolls  up  you  get  it. 
Not  hele." 

"  W'y  you  rotten  slant-eyed  old  'eathen,"  said  Men- 
zies  irascibly.  "  Wot  ya  giving  us  ?  You're  Sing  Loo, 
ain't  you?  We  was  sent  to  you." 

Sing  Loo  made  a  gesture  of  acquiescence.  "  I've  re- 
tiled,"  he  said  meekly.  "  My  fliend  up  the  stleet  give 
you  plenty  opium." 

It  was  evident  that  his  suspicions  had  been  aroused 
in  some  manner  and  that  he  was  fully  determined  they 
should  not  set  foot  within  the  interior  room.  Mean- 
while time  was  flying.  Menzies  took  a  sudden  step  and, 
whirling  the  Chinaman  round,  got  his  left  arm  in  a 
strangle  hold  round  his  throat. 

"  Make  a  sound  and  I'll  throttle  you,"  he  whispered 
tensely.  "  We  want  to  have  a  look  round  this  j  oint — 

[312] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


savvy?  Get  that  gun  out,  Hallett.  Show  it  to  him. 
Put  the  muzzle  right  between  his  eyes  so  that  he  can 
see  it.  That's  right.  Now  shoot  the  blighter  if  he 
makes  an  ugly  move."  He  released  his  arm.  "  Now, 
my  lad,  get  going.  Where  is  the  man  and  the  woman 
who  were  here  just  now?  " 

Sing  Loo's  face  was  blank.  If  he  was  frightened  he 
did  not  show  it  save  by  an  almost  imperceptible  whiten- 
ing of  the  yellow  skin.  "  No  woman  has  been  hele,"  he 
stammered. 

"  Don't  lie,"  said  Menzies  fiercely.  "  What  do  you 
call  that?  "  He  stooped  and  picked  a  hairpin  from  the 
floor  and  shook  it  between  his  finger  and  thumb  in  the 
Chinaman's  face.  "  I  wonder  if  you're  deeper  in  this 
than  I  thought  at  first?  " 

His  eyes  narrowed  and  he  surveyed  the  yellow  face 
with  fresh  suspicion. 

Sing  Loo  gave  back  a  step,  as  it  were,  involuntarily 
and  Jimmie  followed  him  up  with  the  revolver.  He 
waved  a  long  slender  hand  in  front  of  his  face  as  though 
to  keep  out  the  view  of  the  menacing  blue  muzzle. 
"  There  has  been  a  woman,"  he  admitted.  "  She  came 
to  see  a  fliend  and  she  went  away  in  a  cab." 

"  So.  We're  beginning  to  get  at  things  at  last. 
How  did  she  come  to  be  here?  And  keep  your  voice 
down.  There's  no  need  to  shout." 

"  She  came  to  see  a  fliend — Mr.  Ling.  He  saw  hel 
hele  in  this  passage.  They  were  angly — very  angly. 

[313] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


Then  she  fainted  and  he  asked  me  to  send  a  boy  to  get 
a  taxi  to  fetch  hel  away." 

"  Sounds  as  if  you  might  be  speaking  the  truth  for 
once,"  said  Menzies.  "  Now  listen  to  me,  Sing  Loo.  Is 
that  man  here  still?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  back  loom.  He's  going  soon  after  he's 
had  one  mole  pipe." 

"  Ah.  He's  got  the  craving  in  his  blood,  has  he  ? 
Very  well.  We're  new  customers  of  yours,  see?  You'll 
lead  us  in  to  where  he  is,  and  if  you  get  gay  remember 
my  friend's  gun  is  liable  to  go  off,  and  I'm  a  bad- 
tempered  man  myself." 

"  I  undelstand,"  murmured  Sing  Loo.  "  Come  this 
way." 

Jimmie  slipped  the  weapon  into  his  overcoat  pocket 
and  kept  his  hand  on  it  ready  for  instant  action.  Men- 
zies edged  up  close  to  Sing  Loo  and  twisted  his  hand 
into  the  other's  sleeve.  The  inner  door  opened  in  re- 
sponse to  the  Chinaman's  summons  and  they  found 
themselves  in  a  passage  lighted  very  dimly  in  com- 
parison to  that  outside. 

Jimmie's  heart  was  pounding  with  excitement.  He 
was  glad  that  the  chief  inspector  had  permitted  him  to 
carry  the  revolver.  He  had  acquired  a  certain  amount 
of  respect  for  Menzies,  but  he  also  had  views  about 
Ling  and  he  was  resolved  at  the  first  hint  of  trouble  to 
shoot  fast  and  to  shoot  first.  The  legal  question  of  his 
justification  could  be  settled  afterwards. 

[314] 


Menzies,  if  his  face  was  any  index  to  his  feelings,  was 
as  unmoved  and  impassive  as  though  he  was  about  to 
take  a  seat  in  a  theatre.  Ling  was  to  him  merely  a 
piece  in  the  game  that  was  so  nearly  played  out — a 
piece  he  intended  to  remove  from  the  board  and  then 
to  forget,  except  as  something  that  had  played  a  prom- 
inent part  in  a  well-fought  game. 

They  descended  a  couple  of  steps  into  a  gloomy  room 
lit  by  two  or  three  tiny  gas  jets  and  a  glowing  fire.  As 
his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness  Jimmie  saw 
vague  forms  about  the  room,  the  majority  lying  on  a 
series  of  platforms  with  tiny  glass  lamps  by  their  sides. 
They  were  mostly  smoking,  one  or  two  cigarettes  and 
others  opium.  A  few  were  asleep. 

The  atmosphere  was  no  new  one  to  Jimmie.  He  rec- 
ognised the  usual  paraphernalia  of  the  inyun  fun. 
Each  smoker  had  a  tray  with  his  apparatus  from  the 
pipe  itself  to  the  yen  hock  used  for  smoking  the  opium 
over  the  flame  of  the  lamp. 

Most  of  the  customers  were  quite  apathetic  to  the 
entrance  of  the  new  arrivals.  Menzies  in  one  rapid 
glance*  gleaned  the  fact  that  there  was  no  window  and 
that  the  only  other  egress  from  the  room,  except  that 
in  which  they  stood,  was  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 
In  the  dim  light  it  was  at  first  impossible  to  make  out 
the  identity  of  any  of  the  smokers. 

He  relinquished  his  grip  of  Sing  Loo's  sleeve  and 
bounded  across  to  the  other  door.  Someone  raised  him- 

[315] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


self  on  an  elbow.  "  That  you,  Menzies  ?  "  drawled  a 
lazy  voice.  "  I'll  give  you  credit  for  being  a  hustler 
when  you  get  on  the  go.  Take  that,  you  swine." 

A  streak  of  flame  split  the  darkness  and  a  bullet 
smashed  against  the  wall.  Jimmie's  pistol  was  levelled 
and  almost  in  the  same  instant  his  shot  answered. 
There  was  a  groan,  immediately  stifled,  and  then  a  short 
laugh. 

"  Bull's-eye — five,"  said  Ling  in  the  monotonous 
chant  of  the  ranges.  "  That's  one  I  owe  to  you,  Master 
Hallett.  You've  smashed  my  wrist.  Good  shooting  in 
this  tricky  light." 

The  place  was  filled  with  a  vague  vision  of  crawling 
forms,  all  of  those  who  were  not  too  far  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  drug  being  anxious  to  get  out  of  the  way  of 
the  bullets.  Jimmie's  muzzle  was  full  on  the  dark  figure 
of  Ling. 

"  Drop  your  gun — drop  it,  I  say,"  he  ordered  per- 
emptorily. 

Ling  laughed  again.  "  All  right,  sonny,  I  know  when 
I've  got  enough.  Don't  I  tell  you  you've  smashed  my 
wrist.  I  aren't  worth  a  cent  at  left-handed  shooting. 
Say,  your  friend  Menzies  seems  to  have  got  his  medi- 
cine." 

The  chief  inspector  had  collapsed  at  the  first  shot, 
and  though  Jimmie  was  too  wary  to  take  his  eyes  off 
the  master  crook  he  had  an  impression  of  his  great  bulk 
lying  motionless  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

[316] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  Stand  up,"  commanded  Jimmie.  "  Put  your  hands 
up.  My  God,  Ling,  I'm  only  looking  for  a  good  excuse 
to  plug  you."  He  remembered  Peggy  and  all  she  had 
suffered  at  this  man's  hands  and  his  blood  boiled. 

"  Tut,  tut !  Let  not  your  angry  passions  arise." 
Ling  might  have  been  remonstrating  with  a  petulant 
child,  but  he  stood  up  nevertheless.  "  I  told  you  I'd 
got  a  bullet  in  my  wrist,  didn't  I?  How  can  I  put  my 
hands  up?  I'll  put  one  up  if  that'll  suit  you.  You're 
a  smart  boy,  Hallett,  but  if  you'd  been  alone  I  could 
have  handled  you." 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Jimmie.     "  I  want  to  think." 

It  was  a  position  not  without  its  difficulties.  There 
would  have  been  a  dozen  solutions  of  the  problem  had 
Menzies  not  been  laid  out.  That  had  been  a  piece  of 
most  execrable  luck  which  had  made  all  the  difference. 
So  long  as  he  held  his  back  to  the  door  and  his  weapon 
on  Ling  Jimmie  was  in  command.  To  remain  like  that 
was,  however,  impossible.  Something  had  to  be  done, 
but  what,  it  was  hard  to  decide.  For  all  that  he  knew 
the  place  might  be  teeming  with  friends  of  Ling  only 
waiting  for  that  steady  muzzle  to  waver  a  second  before 
rushing  him.  At  the  best  he  was  confident  that  five  out 
of  every  six  of  those  present  were  crooks  and  black- 
guards who  would  stick  at  little  if  it  came  to  the 
point. 

Ling  crystallised  his  dilemma  with  a  sneer.  "  Say, 
bo,  you've  got  hold  of  a  tiger's  tail,  haven't  you?  Don't 

[317] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


know  whether  to  keep  hold  or  let  go.     You  take  my 
advice  and  run  home  to  your  mummy." 

Jimmie  never  answered.  His  lips  were  firm-pressed 
and  his  dogged  chin  jutted  out.  Even  if  he  had  been 
able  to  rush  Ling  out  at  the  point  of  the  revolver  until 
he  found  a  police  officer,  he  could  not  leave  Menzies. 
Moreover  he  had  an  idea  that  in  any  case  Ling  would 
not  calmly  submit  to  such  a  programme.  He  lowered 
the  pistol  muzzle  a  trifle  and  his  finger  hovered  inde- 
cisively over  the  trigger.  An  easy,  simple  way  would 
be  to  maim  him  so  that  he  could  not  get  away.  A  bullet 
in  the  leg  would  do  it. 

Yet,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  Jimmie  could  not  press 
the  trigger.  It  was  too  cold-blooded  to  shoot  down  an 
unarmed  man.  He  wished  Ling  was  not  so  cool — that 
he  could  give  him  an  excuse  for  an  attempt  at  violence. 
Otherwise  it  seemed  a  stale  mate. 

Of  course  there  was  Royal.  Sooner  or  later  he  would 
be  back  or  would  send  aid  of  some  sort.  But  then  Royal 
had  his  hands  full  for  the  time  and  he  might  believe 
that  they  were  capable  of  coping  with  the  situation 
without  assistance.  It  might  be  hours  before  relief  was 
to  be  looked  for  from  that  quarter. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  sonny?  " 
asked  Ling  coolly.  "  Seems  to  me  that  you'll  have  to 
do  a  heap  of  thinking  before  you  take  me.  Meanwhile, 
if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  my  arm's  getting 
tired." 

[318] 


"  You'll  keep  as  you  are — if  you're  wise.  I  can  keep 
my  tiger  one  way — if  he  puts  temptation  in  front  of 
me." 

"  Right  you  are,"  acquiesced  Ling  cheerfully.  "  I'll 
try  to  endure  it,  only  I  just  hate  to  hear  your  brains 
creak  under  the  strain." 

Jimmie  could  have  sworn  he  had  come  nearer,  yet 
he  had  not  noticed  him  move.  He  strained  his  eyes 
and  what  he  saw  made  him  tighten  up.  The  one  hand 
held  by  the  crook  above  his  head  had  the  two  middle 
fingers  and  the  thumb  closed.  The  first  and  little  finger 
were  extended  right  out.  To  a  man  not  aware  of  the 
trick  it  might  have  seemed  insignificant.  But  Jimmie 
had  seen  it  before — seen  it  carried  out.  Ling  was  ma- 
noeuvring to  get  within  reach  of  him.  Then  these  two 
fingers  could  be  used  with  deadly  effect  in  a  leap — one 
in  each  eye,  and  in  his  blinding,  agonising  pain  he  would 
be  at  his  opponent's  mercy. 

"  Go  back,"  he  said  crisply,  "  back  three  paces.  I 
like  you  better  at  a  distance." 

As  Ling  obeyed  Jimmie  turned  his  eyes  for  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  to  the  place  where  he  had  seen  Menzies 
fall.  There  was  nothing  there.  Forgetful  in  his  sur- 
prise of  the  importance  of  watching  Ling  he  stared 
blankly,  wondering  if  his  eyes  were  playing  tricks  with 
him.  Menzies  had  certainly  gone. 

His  distraction  was  only  momentary,  but  it  was  the 
chance  for  which  the  other  had  been  waiting.  Swiftly 

[319] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


and  noiselessly  as  the  tiger  with  which  he  had  compared 
himself  Ling  moved.  Jimmie  fired  wildly  and  knew  in- 
stinctively that  he  had  missed.  Yet  Ling  had  crashed 
forward  headlong  and  was  cursing  as  he  squirmed  on 
the  boarded  floor,  struggling  to  free  himself  from  some- 
one who  had  gripped  him  as  he  fell. 

Then  Jimmie  understood.  Menzies  had  not  been  hit 
at  all.  He  must  have  foreseen  Ling's  purpose  and 
dropped  just  the  fraction  of  a  second  before  the  bullet 
sped  over  his  head.  Then  he  must  have  wormed  his  way 
silently  across  the  floor  towards  the  crook,  his  progress 
unnoticed  among  the  recumbent  forms  in  the  half  light. 

After  his  first  vitriolic  outburst  Ling  fought  in  grim 
silence.  Jimmie  dared  not  leave  his  post  by  the  door 
to  go  to  Menzies'  assistance  and  he  watched  breathlessly, 
wondering  if  he  dared  risk  a  second  shot.  He  could  hear 
the  harsh  breathing  of  the  two  men,  their  shuffling  on 
the  floor  as  they  manoeuvred  for  the  top  position,  and 
now  and  then  the  thud  of  a  blow.  It  ought,  he  thought, 
to  be  a  fairly  easy  thing  for  Menzies  if  Ling's  right 
wrist  had  really  been  smashed.  Then  he  remembered 
that  the  detective  also  had  a  left  hand  injured.  In  that 
respect  the  struggle  was  nearly  equal. 

Once  there  was  a  gasp  that  was  almost  a  groan ;  once 
a  fierce  epithet  punctuated  the  laboured  breathing. 
Though  he  strained  his  eyes  Jimmie  could  not  make  out 
in  whose  favour  the  struggle  was  proceeding — he  could 
only  see  a  bundle  of  twisted,  straining  forms  with  first 
[320] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


one  man  on  top  and  then  the  other.  They  rolled  over 
one  of  the  drugged  smokers  and  he  paid  no  more  atten- 
tion than  if  he  had  been  a  corpse.  Then,  silhouetted 
against  the  gas  flame  for  a  tithe  of  a  second  was  an 
upraised  hand  and  below  it  the  fantastic  reflection  of 
light  on  steel. 

Jimmie  focused  his  weapon,  but  before  he  could  draw 
a  sight  another  hand  grasped  the  wrist  and  wrenched  it 
down.  The  knife  dropped  with  a  little  musical  tinkle 
and  the  two  forms  became  obscure  again.  Then  he  be- 
came aware  of  a  man's  head  slowly  rising  into  the  dim 
light  and  he  saw  that  it  was  Menzies.  The  vision  was 
like  a  badly  focused  cinema  picture.  Menzies'  hand 
was  at  the  other's  throat  and  he  dragged  him  slowly, 
relentlessly  upwards  and  then  suddenly  flung  all  his 
force  downwards.  There  was  a  crash  as  Ling's  skull 
touched  the  boards  and  the  chief  inspector  got  shakily 
to  his  feet.  He  passed  a  dazed  hand  over  his  forehead 
and  laughed  a  trifle  shakily. 

"  I'm  getting  a  bit  too  fat  for  this  sort  of  work,"  he 
said. 

He  spoke  as  though  he  had  been  engaged  in  a  football 
match  rather  than  a  life-and-death  struggle.  Hallett 
laughed  too,  the  overstrained  laugh  of  relief.  "  Bully  for 
you,"  he  agreed.  "  I  thought  you  were  down  and  out." 

"  A  close  thing,"  admitted  the  chief  inspector,  mop- 
ping his  brow  with  a  big  handkerchief.  "  He  had  the 
pull  of  us.  His  eyes  were  used  to  the  light.  I  just 
[321] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


caught  him  pulling  the  gun  in  time  and  dropped.  I 
concluded  in  the  circumstances  I'd  let  you  play  the  hand 
until  I  got  a  chance  to  chip  in." 

"  How  about  him  ?  "  asked  Jimmie. 

"Him!  Oh,  he's  all  right.  I've  not  killed  him. 
Only  a  little  tap  on  the  head  to  knock  some  of  the 
deviltry  out  of  him.  You  keep  on  holding  up  this  room 
full  of  toughs.  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute.  Don't  let 
anyone  in  or  out." 

He  slipped  by  Hallett  into  the  passage.  Presently 
Jimmie  heard  from  without  the  shrill  series  of  long 
and  short  whistles  which  in  the  Metropolitan  Police  is 
a  call  for  assistance.  In  two  or  three  minutes  Menzies 
was  back,  though  outside  the  whistle  was  repeated. 

"  We're  all  right  now,"  he  said  casually.  "  There'll 
be  a  regular  little  army  here  in  no  time." 

Jimmie  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  Well,  you 
take  it,"  he  said.  "  You  come  to  this  place  practically 
single-handed,  you  lay  out  Ling,  and  now  he's  there  for 
you  to  do  what  you  like  with,  you  go  and  call  up  help. 
What  do  you  want  more  than  one  or  two  constables  for, 
anyway?  We  could  have  run  him  up  ourselves,  for  that 
matter." 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  Menzies'  eye.  He  swept  a 
hand  round  comprehensively.  "  And  leave  this  nest  be- 
hind me,  eh?  Don't  forget  I'm  a  policeman,  laddie.  If 
I'm  engaged  in  a  forgery  case  it's  no  reason  I  should 
shut  my  eyes  when  I  see  your  pocket  being  picked." 


THE    MAELSTROM 


In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  as  it  seemed  to 
Jiinmie,  the  place  was  swarming  with  policemen.  They 
were  prompt  and  businesslike,  and  there  was  no  unneces- 
sary fuss.  Sing  Loo  went  off  protesting  and  tearful 
between  a  couple  of  stalwart  constables  and  a  similar 
escort  was  provided  for  most  of  his  clients  who  were  able 
to  walk.  On  the  others  a  guard  was  placed. 

Menzies  walked  over  to  Ling  and,  lifting  his  head, 
forced  a  flask  of  brandy  between  his  teeth.  The  crook 
sat  up  and  opened  his  eyes.  Then  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment he  knocked  the  flask  away  and  scowled  on  the 
detective. 

"  You  got  me,"  he  growled  deep  in  his  throat.  Then 
with  a  sudden  spasm  of  energy,  "  By  H ,  Mr.  Po- 
liceman, you  may  think  you've  got  the  odd  trick,  but 
the  rubber  isn't  played  out  yet." 

"  You  don't  want  to  talk  for  a  minute,"  said  Men- 
zies placidly.  "  Better  have  a  drink." 


£  323  ] 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  scar  on  Ling's  temple  was  flaming  blood-red 
against  the  whiteness  of  his  features  as  they  brought  him 
into  the  cold,  businesslike  atmosphere  of  the  bare  charge 
room  of  the  police  station.  His  ordinary  clothes  had 
been  removed  when  he  was  searched  and  the  suit  tem- 
porarily substituted  hung  loosely  about  him.  His  in- 
jured wrist  had  been  bandaged  and  he  had  had  doctor's 
attention  since  he  had  been  brought  from  the  opium 
joint.  He  looked  ill  and  worn,  yet  his  eyes  flamed 
indomitably  as  he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
little  group  of  men  who  were  awaiting  him. 

"  We're  all  here,  ain't  we?  "  he  snarled.  "  Why  don't 
you  get  on  with  the  seance?  " 

The  beast  in  him  was  still  at  the  top,  but  to  the  men 
there  his  words  did  not  at  all  matter.  They  were  con- 
tent to  know  that  he  had  been  run  down  and  they  were 
only  concerned  to  see  that  he  was  held  in  safe-keeping 
till  the  mechanism  of  the  law  had  been  put  into  opera- 
tion. No  one  resented  his  manner  so  long  as  it  did  not 
go  to  physical  violence.  He  was  impersonal — a  piece  of 
merchandise  that  had  to  be  dealt  with.  When  they  had 
done  with  him  he  would  be  put  back  in  a  cell  like  any 
common  drunk  and  disorderly,  and  be  more  or  less 
forgotten  when  any  reasonable  physical  wants  had  been 
attended  to. 

[324] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


That  was  the  impression  Jimmie  had  of  these  men  in 
his  mind.  And  partly  he  was  right.  Yet  Menzies  at 
least,  though  his  nonchalant  manner  did  not  show  it,  had 
a  sense  of  triumph,  of  work  in  great  part  achieved  that 
made  him  view  Ling  with  a  more  personal  interest. 
Ling  as  Ling  did  not  matter  to  him,  but  Ling  as  a 
symbol  of  the  forces  which  he  had  defeated  was  of 
mighty  interest. 

The  whole  scene  struck  Jimmie  as  something  unreal 
—like  a  badly  stage  managed,  badly  acted  scene  in  a 
play.  The  spectacular,  the  melodramatic  touch  was  ab- 
sent. The  grey  dawn  was  filtering  through  the  skylight, 
yellowing  the  electric  bulbs,  yet  Menzies  did  not  stalk 
to  the  centre  of  the  stage  and  with  outstretched  arm 
denounce  the  villain  of  the  piece.  He  was  not  made  up 
for  the  part. 

Instead,  a  bare-headed  police  inspector — Jimmie 
thought  he  looked  singularly  unreal  without  his  cap  and 
sword  belt — sauntered  casually  to  the  tall  charge  desk 
and  leaning  one  elbow  upon  it  lifted  a  pen.  Ling  was 
standing  a  few  paces  away  between  a  couple  of  police- 
men but  not  even  in  the  dock.  Menzies  moved  over  to 
the  desk  and  leaning  both  arms  on  the  back  of  it  talked 
to  the  inspector.  Jimmie  caught  a  word  or  two  here 
and  there,  but  even  then  he  did  not  realise  at  first  that 
the  charge  was  being  made. 

"...  wilful  murder  on  the  night  of.  ...  I  charge 
.him.  ..." 

[325] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


The  inspector's  pen  scratched  busily.  Then,  putting 
the  pen  in  his  mouth,  he  used  both  hands  to  blot  what 
he  had  written  and  read  it  critically  before  inviting 
Menzies'  signature. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  politely.  "  Now "  He 

raised  his  head  and  looked  at  the  prisoner. 

"  Stewart  Reader  Ling,  you  heard  what  the  chief 
inspector  said.  You  are  charged  with  the  wilful  mur- 
der of  John  Edward  Greye-Stratton.  No.  Keep  quiet 

for  a  minute '  He  raised  a  placatory  hand  as 

Ling  opened  his  lips.  "  If  there's  anything  you  wish 
to  say  you  may  do  so,  but  I  shall  take  it  down  in  writ- 
ing and  it  may  be  used  as  evidence  against  you." 

"  You  think  you  can  prove  that?  "  said  Ling. 

"  There  are  two  other  charges  of  murder  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  will  be  brought  against  you  later,"  said 
Menzies,  ignoring  the  question.  "  One  is  in  connection 
with  the  death  of  a  fireman  in  Levoine  Street " 

"  Here.  Hold  on  a  minute,  Mr.  Man.  What  fire- 
man's this?  I  never  killed  any  fireman.  There  was  one 
knocked  out  for  a  while,  but  he  wasn't  killed  by  a  long 
way." 

"  He  was  killed  when  the  building  burnt  out.  We 
call  that  murder.  The  third  case  is  that  of  the  woman 
known  as  Gwennie  Lyne  whom  you  are  believed  to  have 
stabbed  to-night." 

Little  wrinkles  of  profound  amusement  appeared  on 
Ling's  face.  "  You  seem  to  have  got  it  right  in  for 

[  3.26  ] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


me,"  he  laughed.  "  I  reckon  you'll  wish  you'd  been  a 
bit  smarter  by  the  time  you  get  through.  It's  mournful 
to  see  you  struggling.  You  don't  mean  that  Gwennie 
got  past  you  with  that  fake.  I  didn't  believe  she'd  pull 
it  off  even  against  you  bone-heads."  He  chuckled  again 
as  if  intensely  entertained. 

Several  pairs  of  puzzled  eyes  were  centred  on  him. 
All  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  trying  to  work  some 
new  kind  of  bluff.  Menzies  alone  guessed  what  he  was 
driving  at.  He  clenched  his  fist  tightly  but  kept  an 
unmoved  face  to  the  prisoner. 

"  Gwennie's  not  dead,"  said  Menzies  crisply. 

There  was  not  a  man  in  the  room  who  was  not  startled 
at  the  words  so  casually  uttered.  Ling's  mouth  re- 
mained open  in  ludicrous  astonishment  and  he  would 
have  taken  a  step  towards  the  chief  inspector  had 
not  a  touch  on  his  sleeve  reminded  him  of  his  guard. 
Then  his  face  relaxed  as  his  keen  wits  began  work- 
ing. 

"  You're  a  hell  of  a  guesser,"  he  retorted.  "  You  got 
me  for  the  minute.  I  reckon  Gwennie  is  far  enough 
away  by  this  time.  She's  not  murdered,  anyway,  and  I 
don't  believe  I'd  have  stayed  and  waited  for  you  if  I'd 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  killing  of  the  others. 
Gwennie's  the  one  you  want  to  get.  She  fixed  up  the 
place  in  Levoine  Street,  and  it  was  she  who  did  in  the 
old  man.  You  write  that  down,  Benjamin."  He  ad- 
dressed the  inspector  at  the  charge  desk. 

[  327  ] 


"  So  you're  going  to  lay  it  all  on  to  her  now?  "  said 
Menzies  with  a  note  of  scorn  in  his  voice. 

"  You'd  better  bet  I  am,  sonny.  Gwennie  can  look 
after  herself.  You've  kept  us  on  the  run  pretty  hot  for 
a  day  or  two  but  to-night's  been  the  limit.  The  only 
fault  with  you  as  a  sleuth,  Menzies,  is  that  your  im- 
agination doesn't  go  far  enough." 

A  retort  rose  to  Menzies'  lips  but  he  suppressed  it. 
He  was  too  old  a  hand  to  taunt  a  prisoner. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  went  on  Ling.  "  That's  what  you  want — 
imagination.  I'll  own  I  didn't  expect  you  to- smell  out 
that  opium  joint  as  quick  as  you  did  or  we'd  never  have 
gone  there.  We  were  surprised  some  when  you  and  the 
other  two  walked  down  the  street.  I'll  make  you  a 
present  of  that.  Your  imagination  didn't  rise  to  us 
having  a  lookout.  If  you'd  have  walked  in  then  you'd 
have  found  both  the  little  birdies  at  home — Gwennie  and 
me.  It  isn't  exactly  a  place  for  a  lady  and  she  had 
already  sent  for  a  cab,  not  feeling  that  she  could  be  real 
homelike  there.  If  we'd  known  there  were  only  the  three 
of  you  we  might  have  tried  a  run  in  the  other  direction, 
but  we  thought  that  you'd  got  the  place  shut  off  tighter 
than  you  did  Levoine  Street. 

"  So  we  fixed  a  little  stunt  for  your  benefit.  You'll 
have  got  the  idea  by  this  time.  You  see  she'd  got  more 
at  stake  than  I  had — me  being  innocent  of  all  these 
things  you've  accused  me  of — so  we  had  to  see  to  her 
get-away  first.  It  was  her  stunt  all  through — a  fake 
[328] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


quarrel  in  the  passage,  some  flour  well  rubbed  into  her 
face  and  a  touch  of  brown  paint  on  her  dress  just  above 
her  heart.  She  looked  real  ghastly  when  the  cab  came 
up  and  I  helped  her  in. 

"  We  reckoned  you'd  rise  to  it,"  went  on  Ling  drily. 
"  If  the  cab  did  get  through  well  and  good.  If  it  didn't, 
why  you  wouldn't  keep  as  close  an  eye  on  a  corpse  as 
you  would  on  a  live  woman  and  you  could  trust  Gwennie 
to  light  out  when  she  saw  her  chance.  Anyway  it  was 
the  best  we  could  do  in  a  hurry.  I  stayed  a  little  longer 
than  I  ought.  Guess  I  thought  there  was  time  for  one 
more  pipe.  Anyway,  if  you  think  you  can  touch  me 
for  murder  you  can't — you've  got  to  get  her.  She's 
away  by  now,  so  my  telling  won't  hurt  her." 

He  grinned  maliciously  as  he  finished.  The  station 
officer  calmly  put  down  his  pen. 

"  Done  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  That's  all  I've  got  to  say  just  now.  My  lawyer3!! 
do  the  talking  if  you  go  on  with  this." 

"  Take  him  below,"  ordered  the  inspector  and  began 
to  gather  up  his  papers. 

Jimmie  eagerly  turned  to  Menzies.  "  What  do  you 
make  of  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  How  did  you  know  about 
Gwennie  ?  I've  been  with  you  ever  since  and " 

The  chief  inspector  smoothed  his  sparse  hair. 
"  Didn't  know,"  he  said  shortly.  "  I  guessed.  We  were 
too  pushed  to  judge  except  by  appearances  and  he's 
probably  right  about  it's  being  a  fake.  No  good  worry- 

[329] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


ing  till  we  hear  from  Royal.  He  may  have  tumbled  to 
it,  but  you  see  he'd  go  to  a  hospital  and  then  to  the  local 
station  and  then  perhaps  on  to  the  opium  joint.  We 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  rumpus  he  may  have  had. 
We  came  straight  on  here  to  Kensington  to  charge  Ling. 
If  she's  got  away  he'll  have  done  everything  necessary 
to  head  her  off.  We  can  only  wait  in  patience." 

"  But  he  won't  know  where  you  are,"  remonstrated 
Jimmie. 

Menzies  smiled.  "  He  knows  that  I'd  have  brought 
Ling  here,  and  if  he  didn't  he  could  find  out  in  ten  min- 
utes by  putting  in  an  all-station  call  from  wherever  he 
happened  to  be.  There's  the  tape  machine  and  the 
telephone  to  every  police  station  in  London  and  you 
can't  lose  an  officer  unless  he  wants  to  be  lost.  No, 
the  question  of  Gwennie  isn't  going  to  upset  me  yet. 
In  our  business  you  can't  often  run  a  one-man  show. 
You've  got  to  trust  your  colleagues.  Royal's  keen 
enough,  and  if  she  should  bilk  him  the  wires  would  be 
alight  mighty  quick."  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I 
shall  give  him  another  five  minutes  and  then  go  home. 
I'm  fairly  worn  out." 

"  Do  you  think  there's  anything  in  that  guff  of 
Ling's?  Whether  he's  bluffing  or  not,  it  seems  to  me 
you've  got  your  work  cut  out  to  prove  any  murder 
against  him  if  she  does  get  away.  She  had  as  much 
motive  as  he  did." 

"Yes.  It  sounded  plausible,  didn't  it?"  said  the 
[330] 


chief  inspector  serenely.  "  There's  only  one  little  legal 
point  that  he  as  well  as  you  missed.  I'm  dead  sure  that 
Ling  killed  Greye-Stratton  but  it  wouldn't  make  the 
slightest  difference  to  him  if  I  couldn't  prove  it — which 
I  think  I  can.  It  doesn't  matter  a  button  who  fired  the 
shot — all  those  in  the  conspiracy  are  equally  guilty  of 
murder — even  if  they  were  a  million  miles  away  at  the 
time.  There's  the  motive,  there's  the  fact  that  Ling  (or 
someone  wearing  clothes  of  exactly  the  same  material, 
which  would  be  an  extraordinary  coincidence)  was  in 
the  house;  there  is  Greye-Stratton's  pistol,  which  you 
will  have  to  swear  you  took  from  him,  and — oh,  there's 
a  dozen  things." 

The  swing  door  of  the  charge  room  clattered  noisily 
open  and  Jimmie  wheeled  to  confront  Royal.  The 
detective-sergeant's  clothes  were  torn  and  smothered  in 
mud  and  there  was  an  ugly  black  bruise  on  his  face. 
Deep  encrimsoned  scratches  were  on  both  cheeks  and 
his  eyes  were  bloodshot.  He  laughed  unsteadily  as  he 
saw  them. 

"  What  a  night  we're  having ! "  he  said.  "  What  a 
light  we're  having !  You  got  Ling?  " 


[331] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MENZIES  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant  and  had  slipped 
a  supporting  arm  round  him. 

"  Got  him  tight,"  he  answered.  "  You  look  to  have 
been  in  something,  old  chap.  Much  hurt?  All  right, 
don't  trouble  to  talk  now."  He  raised  his  voice.  "  One 
of  you  people  call  that  doctor  up  again." 

"  I  got  Gwennie,"  muttered  Royal  feebly.  "  Slip- 
pery Jezebel  she  is,  too,  but  I  got  her.  She  wasn't  dead 
at  all,  Mr.  Menzies.  She.  ..." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  chief  inspector  sooth- 
ingly. "  You  shall  tell  us  all  about  that  later."  But 
he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  that  Royal,  pulled  together 
by  the  skilled  ministrations  of  the  divisional  surgeon, 
was  able  to  tell  his  story.  He  grinned  apologetically  at 
Menzies. 

"  Sorry  to  have  made  an  ass  of  myself  like  that,  sir," 
he  said.  "  I  wanted  to  come  right  on  and  tell  you  all 
about  it  so  I  didn't  stay  to  be  patched  up.  I  never 
thought  I'd  get  the  worst  doing  I've  ever  had  from  an 
old  woman." 

"  She  seems  to  have  mucked  you  up  and  that's  a 
fact,"  agreed  Menzies. 

"  She  did  that,"  explained  Royal.  "  I  was  too  busy 
cursing  my  luck  at  being  left  to  look  after  a  deader 
[332] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


while  you  were  on  the  warpath  with  Ling  that  I  never 
stopped  to  consider  she  mightn't  be  dead  after  all." 

"  I  made  the  same  mistake,"  said  Menzies.  "  You 
aren't  to  blame  there." 

"  Maybe  I  was  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry,"  confessed  Royal. 
"  I  didn't  think  a  corpse  required  much  watching.  I 
was  thinking  of  the  driver.  He  might  have  been  all 
right  and  again  he  mightn't.  So  when  he  patched  the 
engine  up  I  took  my  seat  alongside  of  him  and  we 
started  off  for  the  hospital  at  quite  a  respectable  speed. 
We'd  just  turned  into  the  main  road  when  I  heard  a 
click  behind  me  and  it  flashed  across  my  mind  that  I'd 
been  careless  in  taking  the  old  girl  so  much  on  trust.  I 
bent  round  the  side  of  the  cab  to  take  a  look  through 
the  window  and  there  was  a  hand  fumbling  with  the 
door  handle.  I'd  had  to  twist  like  an  acrobat  to  get  a 
fair  look  and  I  suppose  I  was  a  little  off  my  guard. 
First  thing  I  knew  the  cab  gave  a  lurch  and  I  was 
rolling  over  and  over  in  the  mud  of  the  roadway.  It 
was  a  mercy  I  didn't  break  my  neck,  but  I  wasn't  think- 
ing of  that.  I  just  picked  myself  up  and  there  was  the 
cab  a  hundred  yards  ahead  putting  on  steam  for  all 
it  was  worth. 

"  It  came  to  me  then  what  a  damn  fool  I'd  been.  If 
you'll  believe  me,  sir,  I  hadn't  even  taken  the  number 
of  that  rotten  cab,  and  it  was  too  far  away  to  see  it. 
'  This  about  puts  the  finish  to  your  career  in  the  C.  I.  D., 
Royal,  my  man,'  I  thinks  to  myself  and  pulled  out  my 

[  333  ] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


whistle.  Of  course  I  knew  there  wasn't  a  chance  in  a 
million  of  that  doing  any  good.  She'd  got  too  big  a 
start. 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  believer  in  miracles,  but  I'm 
blest  if  one  didn't  happen  then.  As  I'm  alive  a  great 
big  touring  car  came  sliding  along  towards  me.  The 
chauffeur  was  bringing  it  back  from  Southend  or  some- 
where, I  learned  afterwards.  I  jumped  to  it  and  pulled 
him  up. 

"  '  You  noticed  a  taxi-cab  that  you've  just  passed,'  I 
says. 

"  He  looks  me  up  and  down  and  you  can  guess  I  was 
in  a  pretty  pickle  of  mud  from  head  to  foot.  If  I 
hadn't  pulled  myself  up  into  the  seat  alongside  of  him 
and  took  possession  I  reckon  he'd  have  gone  on  with- 
out me. 

"  '  You've  got  a  devil  of  a  cool  nerve,'  he  says.  *  Get 
off  this  car  or  I'll  fling  you  off  and  call  a  policeman.' 

"  I  was  getting  over  my  shake-up  a  bit  then,  but  there 
wasn't  time  for  argument.  '  For  God's  sake  don't  chew 
the  rag  with  me,'  I  says.  '  Turn  her  head  round  and 
get  after  that  cab  before  it  gets  a  chance  to  dodge 
me.' 

"  Well,  that  chauffeur  was  a  sport.  I  will  say  that 
for  him.  He  jerked  that  big  car  about  in  double-quick 
time  and  we  began  sliding  after  Gwennie.  I  felt  my  luck 
was  in. 

"  '  Now  what's  it  all  about?  '  he  says  as  soon  as  we 

[  334  ] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


got  going.  '  If  you're  having  a  game  with  me,  my  lad, 
you've  got  the  biggest  sort  of  hiding  you  ever  had  in 
your  life  coming  to  you.'  He  looked  it,  too. 

"  '  I'm  a  detective  officer,'  I  says,  *  and  in  that  cab 
there's  a  woman  wanted  for  murder.  Now  bust  your  car 
or  catch  her.' 

"  He  nodded  and  let  the  car  out.  You  know  the 
Wliitechapel  Road's  fairly  straight  in  stretches  and  we 
had  a  view  of  the  cab  before  it  took  one  of  the  bends. 
There'll  be  some  summonses  out  against  that  car  this 
morning  for  exceeding  the  speed  limit  unless  we  put  in 
a  word.  That  chauffeur  was  quick  to  take  a  hint  and 
you  can  bet  we  shifted.  The  road  was  fairly  clear  at 
that  hour  and  we  came  up  to  the  cab  as  if  it  was  stand- 
ing still. 

"  '  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  '  asks  the  chauffeur. 

"  '  Get  alongside  and  yell  to  the  driver  to  stop,'  I  says. 
I  hadn't  any  plan  very  clear  in  my  own  mind  and  that 
was  the  best  I  could  rake  up  at  the  moment.  It  was 
just  silly,  too,  because  if  he'd  stop  for  a  demand  like 
that  he'd  have  stopped  when  I  tumbled  off. 

"  Anyway  we  tried  it,  and  then  I  got  an  idea  of  what 
was  happening.  The  driver's  face  was  like  dirty  white 
paper  and  he  was  hanging  on  to  the  steering  wheel  like 
grim  death.  Inside  Gwennie  had  opened  one  of  the 
windows — you  know  some  taxi-cabs  have  got  windows 
that  open  straight  on  to  the  driver's  seat — and  was 
t  leaning  forward  with  a  little  ivory-mounted  pistol  in  her 

[335] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


hand.  lie  told  me  later  on  that  when  I  tumbled  off  he 
started  to  pull  up  and  the  feel  of  the  pistol  muzzle  in 
his  ribs  was  the  first  thing  that  woke  him  up  to  the  fact 
that  Gwennie  was  going  to  have  a  say-so.  He  thought 
she  was  a  ghost  at  first. 

"  As  we  came  level  I  yelled  to  the  man  to  stop.  He 
just  took  no  notice.  She  had  him  too  thoroughly 
frightened  for  that.  All  his  mind  was  on  his  steering 
and  that  wicked  little  pistol  that  was  behind  his  back. 

"  Then  she  saw  us  and  swung  the  pistol  round  to- 
wards us.  But  she  never  fired.  She  must  have  under- 
stood what  kind  of  a  fix  I  was  in,  for,  while  she  kept  the 
cab  going,  it  seemed  impossible  that  I  could  get  at  her. 
She  just  smiled  and  then  kissed  her  hand  towards  me. 

"  That  got  my  goat.  I  passed  the  word  to  my  chauf- 
feur to  drop  a  little  behind  and  then  I  put  it  to  him. 

"  '  Can  you  cut  a  wheel  off  that  thing  for  me — smash 
the  blighting  thing  up  ?  ' 

"  It  didn't  seem  to  appeal  to  him.  He  looked  grave. 
*  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  this  was  one  of  the  guv- 
'nor's  old  cars,'  he  says,  '  but  it  isn't.  It's  his  pet  and 
I  wouldn't  risk  a  smash  for  anything.' 

"  '  How  much  petrol  have  you  got?  '  I  asks,  thinking 
we  might  shadow  the  other  car  till  it  was  forced  to  come 
to  a  standstill. 

"  *  I  don't  know  exactly,'  he  answers,  '  but  it  isn't 
much.  We  may  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  tank  any  min- 
ute. Whatever  you're  going  to  do  you'd  better  do 
[336] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


quick.    I'm  game  for  anything  that  won't  do  in  the  car.5 

"  I  looked  at  the  road  sliding  past  and  it  gave  me 
the  shivers.  We  were  fairly  hustling.  However,  I 
wasn't  going  to  let  her  have  the  laugh  at  me. 

"  '  You  put  us  level  with  that  cab  again,'  I  says,  '  and 
hold  as  close  and  as  near  the  same  pace  as  you  can.  I'm 
going  to  board  it.' 

"  «  You'll  be  killed,'  he  says. 

"  '  That's  my  business,'  I  tells  him.  *  I've  got  to  stop 
that  woman  and  I'm  going  to  do  it.'  I  was  pretty  well 
strung  up.  Perhaps  her  kissing  her  hand  to  me  had 
something  to  do  with  it. 

"  Well,  he  eased  up  to  let  me  get  on  the  footboard 
and  I  held  on  with  one  hand.  I  knew  I  had  to  be  mighty 
quick  in  pulling  open  the  door  of  the  cab  and  grab- 
bing Gwennie  and  I  didn't  like  the  idea  of  her  pistol  a 
little  bit. 

"  That  chauffeur  knew  how  to  handle  a  car.  He  swung 
out  a  bit  a  little  behind  till  he  had  gauged  the  pace  and 
then  he  edged  till  as  we  drew  level  again  there  wasn't 
three  inches  between  the  two  cars.  I  tore  at  the  door  of 
the  cab  and  wrenched  it  open  somehow.  I  hate  to  think 
in  cold  blood  of  how  I  did  it.  There  wasn't  much  time 
for  thinking  and  I  went  for  her  hell  for  leather  before 
she  could  get  to  work  with  the  shooter. 

"  I  got  her  wrist  as  she  turned  and  smashed  it 
against  the  side  window.  It  cut  us  both  about  a  bit, 
but  she  dropped  the  gun,  and  that  was  the  great  thing. 

[337] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


They  say  it  wasn't  two  minutes  before  the  cab  stopped 
then.  It  was  just  about  the  busiest  two  minutes  I  ever 
spent.  A  tiger's  cage  would  be  a  peaceful  spot  com- 
pared to  the  inside  of  that  cab.  She  may  be  a  woman, 
and  an  old  woman  at  that,  but  she's  got  muscles  like 
whipcord. 

"  Once  she  got  her  hand  at  the  back  of  my  neck 
and  I  saw  forty  million  stars  as  she  flung  me  up  against 
the  side  of  the  cab.  Then  I  got  my  arms  around  her 
and  tried  to  force  her  down,  and  she  used  her  ten  com- 
mandments on  my  face.  I  thought  my  cheeks  had  gone. 
And  all  the  while  that  door  was  open  and  I'd  got  a 
kind  of  idea  that  at  any  minute  we  might  both  go 
through  it. 

"  But  we  didn't,  although  we  must  have  been  near  it 
once  or  twice.  I'd  got  my  arms  locked  round  her  and 
I  wasn't  going  to  let  go,  though  I  was  half  tempted  to 
take  a  chance  and  smash  her  one  under  the  jaw  to  lay 
her  out — especially  when  she  got  her  teeth  into  my 
shoulder  and  bit  right  through  coat  and  all.  She  was 
all  animal  just  then. 

"  At  last  the  cab  stopped  and  my  chauffeur  comes  to 
my  help.  The  driver  was  too  paralysed  to  do  anything 
but  sit  staring,  goggle-eyed.  We  dragged  her  out  into 
the  roadway  and  managed  to  get  the  cuffs  on  her — a 
nice  job  that  was,  too — just  as  a  constable  came  up. 

"  Things  were  easy  after  that.  She  saw  the  jig  was 
up  and  didn't  make  too  much  trouble.  I  shipped  her 
[338] 


down  to  the  local  station  and  left  her  there  without  any 
charge,  and  when  I  found  you  were  here  came  on 
straight  away.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know.  Shall  I 
make  out  my  report  in  the  morning,  sir?  " 

Menzies  nodded  complacently  and  let  a  hand  drop 
gently  on  his  subordinate's  shoulder.  "  You  run  away, 
laddie,  and  get  some  sleep,"  he  said.  "  That's  all  you've 
got  to  think  of  now.  There's  no  urgency  about  getting 
to  the  office  to-morrow.  Let  me  know  when  you  turn 
up,  that's  all.  By  the  way,  did  you  ever  pass  the  Civil 
Service  examination  for  inspector?  " 

Royal's  face  glowed.    "  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  you  got  called  before  the 
C.  I.  Board  sometime.  Good-night.  Which  way  you 
going,  Hallett?" 

"  Back  to  the  hotel.  What  time  will  you  be  off  duty 
to-morrow  ?  " 

The  glance  the  chief  inspector  shot  at  him  had  a 
mixture  of  questioning  and  amusement.  "  To-morrow 
looks  like  being  my  busy  day.  Why  do  you  ask?  " 

'*  Oh,  nothing."  Jimmie  was  a  trifle  confused.  "  I've 
been  taking  a  little  interest  in  gardening  lately  and  I 
thought  I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  some  of  your  roses 
again — if  you'd  let  me  come  over  to  Magersfontein  Road 
sometime." 

"  H'm."  Menzies  surveyed  him  doubtingly.  "  I  don't 
know.  Honest  Injun.  Now  do  you  know  a  Captain 
Hay  ward  from  a  Caroline  Testout?  " 

[339] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  I  was  hoping  to  learn  something  from  you,"  said 
Jimmie  humbly. 

"  I'll  bet  you  are,"  agreed  Menzies.  "  You  turn  up 
at  the  Yard  at  six  to-morrow  evening  if  I  don't  send  for 
you  before  and  we'll  see." 


[340] 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

TRULY,  as  he  had  said,  this  was  Menzies'  busy  day.  He 
sat  bending  over  his  desk,  going  over  the  piles  of  papers 
which  were  the  evidence  of  the  minuteness  with  which 
Scotland  Yard,  aided  by  other  great  police  organisa- 
tions, had  ransacked  the  world  for  the  smallest  facts. 
Hundreds  of  men  had  spent  days  and  money  in  com- 
piling these  reports — and  nine-tenths  of  them  were  use- 
less. 

Before  he  met  the  Treasury  Solicitor,  and  the 
counsel  who  would  have  charge  of  the  case  in  court,  it 
was  his  task  to  have  his  evidence  at  least  roughly  sorted 
into  what  was  material  and  what  was  not  material,  if 
he  did  not  want  to  have  it  straightened  out  by  the  legal 
advisers  of  the  Treasury. 

More  than  once  the  doer  opened  noiselessly  and  Foyle 
peeped  in,  took  one  look  at  the  industrious  figure  at  the 
desk,  and  as  noiselessly  vanished. 

As  he  arranged  the  reports,  Menzies  sent  for  the 
officer  responsible  for  each  one  and  went  through  his 
statement  with  him  with  deliberate  care.  Sometimes  a 
man  would  be  sent  out  again  to  further  verify  an  im- 
portant point  which  had  appeared  of  no  great  value  at 
the  time  the  statement  was  taken.  Gradually  things  be- 
gan to  fall  into  shape.  The  chief  inspector  began  to 
pack  the  documents  and  exhibits  into  a  despatch  case. 
[341] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


For  the  fifth  time  Helden  Foyle  poked  his  head  inside 
the  door  and  then  the  rest  of  his  body  followed.  Men- 
zies  looked  up  and  nodded. 

"  Just  finished,"  he  said. 

"  How  does  it  look?  "  Foyle  asked. 

"  Fair.    Very  fair  indeed,"  said  Menzies  cautiously. 

"  Heard  about  Ling?  "  demanded  the  superintendent. 

"What  about  him?  I  was  down  at  the  station  on 
my  way  here  and  there  was  nothing  much  fresh  then." 

"  Nothing  much.  It's  interesting,  though."  Foyle 
kicked  an  obdurate  coal  with  the  toe  of  his  brightly 
polished  boot.  "  It  happened  after  you  had  gone  and 
they've  just  had  me  on  the  'phone.  You  know  they 
put  a  constable  in  the  cell  with  him?  He  offered  the 
man  one  hundred  pounds  to  smuggle  him  out." 

"  That's  interesting.  Looks  as  if  he  doesn't  fancy 
his  chance  overmuch."  The  detail  did  not  appear  to 
greatly  stir  Menzies. 

"  Yes,  but  listen  to  this.  The  blame  fool,  after  re- 
fusing it,  seems  to  have  got  into  conversation  with  Ling 
and  asked  him  if  he  really  did  shoot  Greye-Stratton." 

Some  sign  of  consternation  flickered  over  Menzies' 
face.  "  You  don't  say,"  he  exclaimed.  "  The  cabbage- 
headed  idiot !  "  .  .  .  Words  failed  him. 

There  is  one  unforgiveable  blunder  in  the  Metro- 
politan Police,  the  hideousness  of  which  no  layman  can 
adequately  plumb.  To  question  a  prisoner,  to  coax  or 
bully  him  into  an  admission  of  guilt  is  one  of  those  things 
[342] 


that  no  zeal,  no  temptation  can  excuse.  It  is  not  merely 
that  it  is  against  the  law.  It  is  not  playing  the  game. 
The  slightest  suggestion  that  such  a  course  has  been 
pursued  has  before  now  secured  a  guilty  man's  ac- 
quittal. 

Foyle  kicked  the  coals  again  and  the  action  seemed 
to  afford  him  some  relief.  *'  And  Ling  admitted  it.  The 
chap  was  so  proud  of  what  he'd  done  that  he  took  a  note 
of  the  conversation." 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do,"  said  Menzies  slowly. 
"  We  can't  put  the  constable  in  the  box.  The  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  let  it  slide.  If  we  don't  use  it  the  defence 
won't  make  a  point  of  it." 

"  What  I'm  wondering  about,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent, "  is  if  your  evidence  is  water-tight  as  it  stands. 
You  see,  even  if  Ling  should  make  a  voluntary  admission 
now  it's  tainted.  He's  been  seeing  that  shyster  Lexton 
and  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  all  this  wasn't  a  carefully 
put-up  trap." 

Weir  Menzies  drew  his  brows  together  and  began 
eating  his  moustache.  "  There  might  be  something  in 
that,"  he  agreed.  "  Lexton's  a  good  lawyer  and  it's 
like  him." 

"  See."  Foyle  demonstrated  with  a  forefinger.  "  If 
we  could  be  tempted  into  putting  an  officer  in  the  box 
to  say  that  Ling  had  confessed  he'd  have  us  by  the  short 
hair.  We'd  have  to  admit  that  at  least  one  of  our  men 
had  questioned  him  and  " — he  snapped  his  fingers — 

[343] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


"  there  you  are.  The  whole  police  evidence  tainted. 
We're  so  anxious  for  a  conviction  that  we've  applied 
third-degree  methods  in  England.  Why,  he'd  be  ac- 
quitted if  he'd  committed  as  many  murders  as  Herod." 

"  I  quite  understand,  sir."  Menzies  was  a  little  peev- 
ish at  having  the  i's  dotted.  "  If  he  makes  a  thousand 
confessions  we  won't  use  them." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  put  you  wise,"  said  Foyle  almost 
apologetically.  "  You've  got  to  rely  on  a  straightfor- 
ward case.  Got  it  mapped  out?  " 

"  I  think  so.  There's  the  direct  case  against  him. 
There's  plenty  of  evidence  to  indicate  Gwennie  Lyne's 
association,  and  we've  got  Miss  Greye-Stratton's  story. 
Big  Rufe  was  caught,  so  to  speak,  red-handed,  and  I 
rather  fancy  when  he  sees  how  deep  he's  in  he'll  turn 
King's  evidence.  We  don't  want  that,  though,  if  we 
can  help  it." 

"  No.  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  superintendent 
quickly.  He  had  all  the  prejudice  of  the  trained  man 
against  calling  the  assistance  of  one  guilty  person  to 
convict  others.  King's  evidence  is  never  suggested  by 
Scotland  Yard  officers  except  as  a  last  resource. 

"  The  weak  point,"  said  Menzies,  "  is  Dago  Sam. 
Except  his  threatening  Hallett,  and  what  Cincinnati  Red 
can  tell  us  about  him,  we've  got  little  to  connect  him 
up." 

"  Well,    see    what    the    lawyers    say,"    said    Foyle. 
"  After  all,  it's  their  funeral  now." 
[344] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


Menzies  nevertheless  had  a  doubt  rankling  in  his  mind, 
and  before  he  left  for  the  consultation  with  the  legal 
lights  he  had  put  into  motion  again  all  the  machinery 
that  he  could  bring  to  bear  to  find  out  whether  any  part 
of  the  case  as  affecting  Dago  Sam  had  been  overlooked. 
He  held  no  animus.  He  would  cheerfully  have  volun- 
teered any  statement  in  favour  of  a  prisoner,  but  equally 
he  had  that  stern  sense  of  duty  that  impelled  him  to 
make  sure  he  had  every  accessible  fact. 

Many  difficulties  had  been  brushed  away  since  all  the 
main  persons  of  the  drama  were  in  his  hands,  and  it  not 
infrequently  happens  that  evidence  of  vast  import  is 
picked  up  after  arrests  have  been  effected.  It  is  then 
possible  to  go  over  the  ground  more  at  leisure  and  with 
an  undetached  mind. 

Congreve,  with  a  big  Gladstone  bag  and  an  air  of 
jubilation,  was  awaiting  him  when  he  returned  from 
Whitehall.  He  had  been  assisting  in  the  search  of  the 
opium  house,  and,  though  he  suppressed  it  well,  it  was 
plain  to  the  inspector's  keen  eyes  that  he  was  labouring 
under  some  excitement. 

"Having  a  birthday,  Congreve?"  he  said.  "You 
look  happy." 

The  other  was  diving  into  the  bag.  He  stood  up 
with  something  wrapped  in  tissue  paper  in  his  arms. 
"  We  went  over  that  place  as  you  said,  sir.  Mostly  old 
pipes  and  lamps  and  all  the  old  junk  that  you'd  expect. 
I  left  it  in  charge  of  Hugh.  There  was  one  room, 
[345] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


though,  that  had  apparently  been  lived  in  by  a  Euro- 
pean, proper  bed  and  washstand  and  everything.  The 
mattress  looked  rather  uneven,  so  we  undid  it.  Found 
this  suit  of  clothes  stuffed  in  it.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
we  found  that  they  fit  Ling.  Here's  the  jacket.  Look 
at  the  stain  on  the  left  sleeve  and  breast. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  jump  to  conclusions,  Con- 
greve,"  said  Menzies  calmly. 

"  It's  blood,  all  right,  sir,"  asserted  Congreve  con- 
fidently. "  Look."  He  pointed  as  Menzies  spread  the 
jacket  carefully  over  the  desk.  "  You'll  remember  how 
the  dead  man  was  lying — on  his  left  side  with  his  face 
towards  the  fireplace.  Anyone  approaching  the  body 
would  naturally  come  from  behind  and  use  the  left  arm 
to  support  the  head.  If  the  wound  was  bleeding  freely 
then  the  jacket  would  be  soaked  exactly  like  this 
one." 

Menzies  opened  a  penknife  and  removed  a  hair  from 
the  breast  of  the  coat.  "  Go  and  get  me  two  small 
pieces  of  glass,"  he  said. 

He  placed  the  hair  between  the  small  glass  slabs  which 
Congreve  secured  and  tied  a  piece  of  tape  round  them. 
His  lips  were  pressed  together  tightly. 

"  Does  it  strike  you,  Congreve,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  that  if  you're  right  and  this  is  the  suit  that  was  worn 
by  the  murderer  it  queers  my  theory?  I  was  relying 
on  the  thread  of  cloth  I  found  to  show  that  it  was  Ling. 
Now  this  material  isn't  in  the  slightest  respect  like  that. 

[346] 


It  means  that  we've  got  an  entirely  new  angle  to  look 
into." 

"  Yes,  but " 

"  Never  mind  about  anything  else  for  the  minute. 
Take  the  coat  round  to  Professor  Harding's  and  make 
sure  that  it  is  human  blood.  Before  you  do  that  'phone 
through  to  Mr.  Fynne-Racton  and  ask  him  if  he'll 
oblige  me  by  coming  on  here  as  quick  as  a  motor  can 
bring  him.  Tell  him  to  bring  an  instrument.  It's  very 
urgent  or  I  wouldn't  trouble  him."  He  opened  the 
breast  pocket  of  the  coat,  wrote  a  few  words  on  an 
envelope  and  passed  out,  carrying  the  hair  in  its  glass 
shield. 

He  held  a  brief  conversation  with  Foyle  in  the  latter's 
room  and  left  the  hair  with  him.  Thence  he  walked  to 
the  Home  Office,  from  there  took  the  tube  to  Kensington, 
and  thence  returned  to  a  certain  tailoring  firm  in  the 
Strand.  From  the  Strand  he  took  a  taxi  to  Buxton 
Prison. 

He  had  entirely  forgotten  his  appointment  with 
Jimmie  Hallett  and  that  young  man's  reproachful  face 
peering  out  of  the  waiting-room  was  one  of  the  first 
sights  that  he  encountered  on  his  return  to  the  Yard. 

"  Hullo,  Hallett,  old  man.  Sorry.  Hope  I  haven't 
kept  you  waiting  long?  " 

"  Only  a  matter  of  a  couple  of  hours,"  said  Jimmie. 
"  Don't  apologise." 

**  Lucky  you're  a  man  of  leisure,"  grinned  the  de- 

[347] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


tective.  "  Another  ten  minutes  won't  hurt."  He  swung 
into  the  superintendent's  room. 

It  was  nearer  another  sixty  than  another  ten  minutes 
before  he  emerged  and  carried  the  impatient  Jimmie  to 
the  electric  cars  opposite  the  Houses  of  Parliament. 
"  That's  another  good  day's  work  done,"  he  said  thank- 
fully. "  I  clean  forgot  all  about  you,  Hallett,  or  I'd 
have  left  a  message.  I've  had  a  hundred  things  to  think 
about." 

"  And  I,"  mourned  Jimmie,  "  have  only  had  one.  By 
the  way,  how  is  Miss  Greye-Stratton?  " 

"  As  fit  as  could  be  expected,  all  things  considered. 
Ninety-nine  girls  out  of  a  hundred  who  had  gone  through 
what  she  has  would  have  been  knocked  out.  I  told  her 
I  should  probably  be  bringing  you  home  to  dinner." 

"Things  been  all  right  today?  No  hitches  of  any 
kind?" 

"  One  or  two  little  points,"  admitted  the  chief  in- 
spector. "  I'm  expecting  a  telephone  call  when  I  get 
home.  Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  then." 

They  had  the  top  of  the  car  to  themselves.  Jimmie 
laughed.  "  Still  as  cautious  as  ever.  I'll  begin  to  have 
doubts  soon  whether  you're  as  wise  as  you  seem." 

"  I've  begun  to  have  doubts  myself.  We're  none  of 
us  infallible.  If  I  was  I  should  be  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, not  in  the  C.  I.  D." 

Although  Menzies  lived  in  Magersfontein  Road, 
Upper  Tooting,  the  dinner  that  had  been  arranged 

[348] 


THE     MAELSTROM 


smacked  little  of  the  suburbs.  Jimmie  felt  that  he  had 
eaten  many  worse  at  Princes  and  Delmonico's.  Perhaps 
a  difference  was  made  by  the  slim  black-clad  figure  that 
sat  opposite  to  him.  Some  of  the  melancholy  had  gone 
from  the  blue  eyes,  though  she  was  still  sober  and  sub- 
dued. Mrs.  Menzies,  discreet  and  tactful,  watched  her 
closely,  and  Jimmie  noticed  that  the  conversation  was 
never  allowed  to  flag. 

"  I  don't  know  how  many  years  we've  been  married, 
Hallett,"  said  Menzies  reflectively,  as  he  poured  out  a 
glass  of  claret,  "  but  this  is  the  first  time  I've  ever  taken 
my  wife  into  my  confidence  on  a  professional  subject — 
and  the  first  time  she's  ever  asked  me." 

Jimmie's  eyes  dwelt  on  the  smiling,  genial  face  of  his 
hostess.  "  Effect  and  cause,"  he  murmured.  "  If  Mrs. 
Menzies  ever  wanted  to  know  a  thing  you'd  have  to 
capitulate." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that,  Mr.  Hallett,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Menzies.  "  He's  like  a  bit  of  stone  sometimes — a 
most  aggravating  man  to  get  on  with.  Don't  you  ever 
marry  a  detective,  Miss  Greye-Stratton." 

"  She  won't,"  said  Jimmie  promptly,  and  watched  the 
rich  flood  of  colour  that  surged  into  the  girl's  cheeks. 

"  One  minute,"  said  Menzies,  standing.  "  Fill  your 
glasses.  I'm  going  to  propose  a  toast.  Oh,  da — bless 
the  telephone."  With  an  apology  he  hurried  to  the 
instrument. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  yes.  This  is  Menzies  speaking.  .  .  .  That 
[349] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


you,  Mr.  Foyle.  Oh,  yes,  yes.  ...  I  see,  that  clears 
everything  up.  .  .  .  Yes,  I'll  be  along  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. Good-night." 

He  returned  to  the  dining-room.  "  To  break  an- 
other professional  rule,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  my  mind  is  perfectly  at  ease  for  the 
first  time  since  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  was  killed." 


[350] 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

JIMMIE  presented  a  French  roll  sternly  at  Menzies, 
pistol  wise. 

"  You  don't  get  away  with  it  like  that,"  he  warned. 
"  Look  at  him.  Cold-blooded  isn't  the  word.  He's  got 
a  perfectly  clear  mind  and  he  can  sit  down  and  eat  and 
drink  in  our  presence  as  though  we  didn't  matter." 

The  chief  inspector  brushed  his  moustache  with  his 
serviette.  "  Plenty  of  time,"  he  murmured.  "  Let's 
have  some  coffee  in  my  room,  my  dear."  His  eyes 
twinkled  at  his  wife.  "  I  must  try  to  satisfy  this  insa- 
tiable young  man,  even  if  I  get  broken  for  betraying 
official  secrets." 

"  If  you  betray  any  secrets  to  Mr.  Hallett  you  be- 
tray them  to  us,"  assented  Mrs.  Menzies  definitely. 

"  But,  my  dear  " — a  series  of  humorous  wrinkles 
formed  around  the  corners  of  his  eyes — "  you  know  you 
don't  like  smoke  in  the  drawing-room.  How  can  I 
talk " 

"  Oh,  very  well."  Mrs.  Menzies  spoke  in  laughing 
resignation.  "  You  may  smoke  there — but  not  a  pipe. 
Mind,  I  totally  forbid  a  pipe." 

Menzies  winked  at  Jimmie.  "  It  shall  be  my  very 
Sunday  best  cigars,"  he  said.  "  Come  along." 

In  the  drawing-room  he  took  up  his  favourite  posture 
[351] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


with  one  arm  on  the  mantelpiece  and  a  foot  on  the 
fender.  He  lit  his  cigar  with  deliberation  and  drew 
silently  at  it  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  You  know  pretty  well  as  much  as  I  do  about  this 
business  up  to  last  night,"  he  said  to  Jimmie.  "  If  you 
had  to  guess  who  would  you  say  was  the  actual  mur- 
derer ?  " 

"  Ling?  "  said  Jimmie  promptly.  "  Why,  you  told 
us  yourself " 

"  That's  what  comes  of  talking  before  a  case  is  com- 
plete," said  the  chief  inspector  oracularly.  "  If  I'd 
kept  my  mouth  shut  and  said  nothing  you  wouldn't  have 
been  able  to  convict  me  in  my  own  house  of  being  a  liar. 
I  was  too  quick  with  the  cockadoodledo  act,  though," 
he  added  quickly.  "  I  was  right  in  my  main  facts. 
Ling  is  certainly  a  murderer — legally  all  of  the  gang 
are  murderers,  and  I  don't  doubt  that  they'll  all  receive 
the  same  punishment.  But  even  so,  there's  something 
more  than  an  intellectual  satisfaction  in  clearing  up  the 
last  fragments  of  doubt.  Ling  is  not  the  murderer.  He 
was  present  in  the  house  when  the  shot  was  fired,  he 
was  the  man  who,  posing  as  a  doctor,  knocked  you  out, 
but  the  real  assassin  was  Mr.  William  Smith— otherwise, 
Dago  Sam." 

"  The  gentleman  who  wanted  to  persuade  me  not  to 
say  anything." 

"  That  same  gentleman.  Funny,  isn't  it,  that  he 
should  have  been  under  lock  and  key  all  this  while  and 
[352] 


we  never  dreamt  of  considering  him  anything  but  a  sub- 
ordinate— which  in  point  of  fact  he  is,  although  he  killed 
Greje-Stratton. 

"  In  one  way  or  another  we've  now  got  roughly  the 
life  of  the  five  persons  involved  in  the  conspiracy  since 
its  inception  in  the  brain  of  Gwennie  Lyne.  Pinkertons 
and  the  New  York  police  have  helped  us  a  lot  on  that. 
I  won't  burden  you  with  a  lot  of  detail  about  that.  Big 
Rufe  was  brought  into  it  by  Gwennie  because  she  didn't 
want  Ling  to  boss  the  show,  and  Rufe,  though  he's  got 
no  brains,  is  a  handy  man  in  a  row.  Dago  Sam  was 
the  man  who  originally  knew  Errol  and  he  seems  to 
have  slid  into  the  scheme  because  he  wouldn't  be  left 
out. 

"  Now  about  the  murder.  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  did 
not  seem  in  any  hurry  to  die  naturally  and  the  gang  of 
course  found  expenses  running  up.  There  was  every 
probability  that  Errol  was  right  and  that  he  had  left 
his  fortune  to  you,  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  but  there  was 
no  certainty — only  Errol's  word.  Now  Dago  Sam 
was  an  expert  burglar.  There  wasn't  one  among  them 
who  objected  to  the  idea  of  making  certain.  Errol  had 
spoken  of  the  safe.  The  chances  were  that  if  the  old 
man  had  made  a  will  he  would  not  have  confided  it  to 
Ills  lawyers — I  am  answering  their  line  of  argument — 
but  would  keep  it  in  his  own  safe  under  his  own  eye. 
If  it  was  in  Miss  Greye-Stratton's  favour,  well  and 
good;  if  it  was  not  the  scheme  was  that  it  should  be 
[353] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


destroyed  and  a  dummy  substituted.  Then  she  would 
automatically  inherit." 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  interrupted  Jimmie.  "  Is  this 
a  hypothesis  or ?  " 

"  It's  concrete  fact.  I'll  tell  you  how  we  got  at  it 
in  a  moment.  Very  well.  Dago  Sam  was  delegated  to 
do  the  burglary  on  the  first  convenient  night.  It  so 
happened  that  when  the  fog  came  down  he  decided  that 
his  chance  had  arrived  and  set  off  without  confiding  in 
anybody  but  Errol.  That  was  the  night,  Miss  Greye- 
Stratton,  that  you  got  the  cheques. 

"  After  missing  you  in  the  fog  Ling  went  on  to  the 
Petit  Savoy,  where  he  met  Errol,  who  spoke  about  Sam's 
decision.  Now  Ling,  it  seems,  wasn't  quite  certain  that 
Sam  hadn't  some  game  of  his  own  to  play.  Crooks 
rarely  trust  one  another  entirely — and  what  must  he 
do  but  start  off  to  Linstone  Terrace  Gardens  himself  to 
keep  an  eye  on  things.  He  must  have  acted  just  on 
general  principles,  because,  unless  by  accident,  he  hadn't 
a  ghost's  chance  of  getting  into  the  house.  You  see,  he's 
no  burglar. 

"  The  accident  happened.  While  he  was  kicking  his 
heels  outside  the  door  opened  softly  and  old  Greye- 
Stratton,  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  looked  out.  To  a  man 
of  Ling's  acuteness  it  was  obvious  what  had  happened. 
He  walked  casually  by  and  was,  of  course,  stopped. 
*  There's  a  burglar  in  here,'  says  Greye-Stratton.  '  Will 
you  fetch  a  constable  ?  '  '  It's  not  much  of  a  night  to 
[354] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


find  one,'  said  Ling.  *  I'll  come  in  if  you  like.  The  two 
of  us  ought  to  manage  him.' 

"  They  went  in — Ling  taking  the  pistol  and — it 
proves  what  his  nerves  were  like — putting  up  a  play  of 
holding  up  Dago  Sam,  who  was  hiding  behind  a  curtain. 
*  Bring  him  into  the  other  room,'  said  the  old  man. 
'  There's  a  telephone  there.  I  can  send  for  the 
police.' 

"  That  took  them  both  aback  for  the  minute.  It  is 
to  be  supposed  that  the  old  man  had  not  telephoned  in 
the  first  place  because  he  was  afraid  the  sound  of  his 
voice  might  alarm  the  burglar.  He  crossed  the  dining- 
room,  leaving  Ling  to  look  after  Sam,  and  that  was 
how  it  happened.  Sam  impulsively  pulled  the  weapon 
out  of  Ling's  hand  and  fired.  Possibly  if  Ling  had 
realised  what  was  going  to  happen  he  would  have 
stopped  it.  However,  he  had  no  chance  and  he  must 
have  realised  instantly  that  now  it  was  done  he  had  to 
sink  or  swim  with  Dago  Sam.  He  took  the  revolver 
away  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Sam  went  round  the 
table  to  inspect  the  shot  man.  It  was  at  that  moment 
that  you,  Mr.  Hallett,  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Now,  whatever  may  be  against  Ling,  he  never 
lacked  courage  or  resource.  Your  knock  must  have 
staggered  the  pair  of  'em.  It  might  simply  be  a  casual 
caller,  though  that  was  unlikely,  seeing  what  sort  of  a 
man  Mr.  Greye-Stratton  was,  or  it  might  be  someone 
who  had  heard  the  shot.  When  your  second  knock  came 
[355] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


they  had  either  to  open  the  door  or  risk  the  possibility 
of  an  alarm  being  raised.  Ling  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  switch  off  the  whole  light  when  they  came 
through.  He  started  for  the  front  door.  Sam  quietly 
called  him  back  and  passed  him  a  small  sandbag.  He 
had  that  spiel  about  being  a  doctor  all  ready  to  loose 
out  on  you.  If  the  caller  had  happened  to  be  an  ac- 
quaintance of  Greye-Stratton's  it  would  explain  what 
he,  a  stranger,  was  doing  there.  You  fell  for  it,  were 
lured  inside  and  laid  out  and  the  cheques  taken  from 
you.  Then  you  were  locked  in.  It  occurred  to  Ling 
that  something  might  be  traced  home  to  them  if  any 
trace  of  the  forgery  was  left.  That  was  why  they 
cleared  out  all  those  bankbooks  and  things.  It  only 
seems  to  have  occurred  to  them  next  day,  after  they  had 
had  a  sleep  on  it,  that  you  might  have  seen  Ling  and  be 
able  to  recognise  him  again.  So  Dago  Sam  was  put  on 
that  fool  idea  of  trying  to  terrify  you." 

He  lifted  a  cup  of  coffee,  took  a  sip  and  replaced  it. 

"  It  is  an  old  truism  that  every  criminal  makes  mis- 
takes. So  if  you  come  to  it  does  every  detective.  We're 
all  human.  But  there's  this  difference  and  it  explains 
why  the  world  is  not  overrun  with  crooks.  A  detective's 
mistake  is  not  necessarily  disastrous.  He  can  retrieve 
himself.  A  crook  who  is  being  hunted  by  the  whole  re- 
sources of  civilisation  hasn't  often  much  time  to  repair 
an  error,  even  if  he  knows  he's  made  one.  The  shooting 
of  Greye-Stratton  was  an  accident  in  a  sense  and  look- 

[356] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


ing  back  you  will  see  how  inevitable  it  was  that  at  least 
the  main  persons  in  the  conspiracy  should  be  brought 
to  justice — and  the  personality  of  the  man  in  charge  of 
the  search  scarcely  mattered  a  button  to  the  ultimate 
result.  It  was  merely  a  matter  of  common  sense  and 
organisation.  Every  step  is  obvious.  Here  is  Greye- 
Stratton  killed.  Obvious  first  enquiry:  Who  and  what 
are  his  relatives  and  friends?  That  leads  us  to  Errol 
and  Miss  Greye-Stratton,  and  through  them  we  get  on 
to  Ling,  and  systematic  enquiries  about  him  would  have 
certainly  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  his  accomplices. 
It  is  one  of  those  cases  in  which  it  was  as  certain  as 
sunrise  that  a  corps  of  disciplined,  intelligent  men  could 
not  be  unsuccessful.  We've  had  luck — but  that  only 
hastens  things — the  end  would  have  been  just  the  same 
now  as  in  three  months'  time." 

"  It's  perfectly  simple  as  you  expound  it,"  said 
Jimmie.  "  But  you  haven't  told  us  how  you  got  all 
the  detail  which  you  have  told  us  about  the  murder. 
You  aren't  going  to  tell  us  you  had  a  dictaphone 
there?" 

"  Not  much.  That  is  one  of  my  short  cuts  in  which 
I  did  the  Sherlock  Holmes  act — with  the  help  of  several 
other  people.  Today  for  the  first  time  we  found  out 
where  Dago  Sam  had  been  laying  up." 

"The  opium  joint?" 

"  Which  will  you  have — cigar  or  cocoanut  ?  "  asked 
Menzies  smilingly.  "  Like  Ling,  he  is  fond  of  the  pipe, 

[357] 


and  Sing  Loo  had  found  him  a  room.  When  that  was 
searched  a  blood-stained  suit  was  found  and  I  happened 
to  notice  a  hair  when  it  was  shown  to  me.  Now,  most 
of  the  rest  was  plain  sailing.  There  was  the  tailor's 
name  and  date  and  a  reference  number  on  a  label  sewed 
in  one  of  the  breast  pockets.  I  went  to  the  tailors'  and 
took  their  fitter  down  with  me  to  Brixton  Prison,  where 
we  had  Sam  paraded  with  a  dozen  other  men  and  picked 
out  as  the  customer  who  ordered  that  suit  of  clothes. 
Meanwhile  I  had  got  a  Home  Office  order  for  the  exhu- 
mation of  Mr.  Greye-Stratton's  body.  A  piece  of  hair 
was  taken  from  the  corpse  and  sent  to  the  Yard,  where 
I  had  persuaded  an  expert  microscopist  to  bring  an  in- 
strument. Already  one  of  the  medical  experts  asso- 
ciated with  the  Home  Office  has  pronounced  the  stain  on 
the  jacket  to  be  human  blood.  Then  when  Fynne- 
Racton  declared  that  the  hair  of  the  murdered  man 
corresponded  with  the  hair  I  had  found  I  had  the  last 
link.  I  got  that  result  from  Mr.  Foyle  over  the  tele- 
phone just  now." 

"  I  can  follow  that  all  right,"  declared  Jimmie,  "  but 
where  I  go  off  the  rails  is  how  you  fixed  the  respective 
roles  of  Dago  Sam  and  Ling.  How'd  you  get  at  what 
happened  at  the  house?  " 

"  That  is  where  the  human  factor  comes  in.     So  long 

as  Sam  thought  the  only  case  against  him  was  a  minor 

one  he  was  determined  not  to  say  a  word.    The  fear  of 

being  hanged  is  a  wonderful  incentive  to  secrecy.    When 

[358] 


THE    MAELSTROM 


he  was  stood  up  for  identification  today  it  was  clear 
to  him  that  we  were  close  up  on  the  facts  and  it  didn't 
much  matter  what  he  said.  He  was  rankling  apparently 
under  the  idea  that  his  pals  had  deserted  him  when  he 
was  arrested  and  he  sent  for  the  governor  of  the  prison 
and  made  a  statement  pretty  well  as  I've  told  you  ex- 
cept that  he  asserted  Ling  fired  the  fatal  shot.  He  was 
a  little  confused  about  that  part  of  it  and  on  reflection 
admitted  that  he  himself  snatched  the  revolver.  It 
doesn't  matter  a  pin,  anyway.  They're  both  murderers. 
The  four  of  them  will  be  brought  up  in  court  together 
to-morrow  morning." 

He  emptied  his  cup  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
"  And  now  if  you'll  excuse  me  I'll  drop  a  line  to  the 
vicar.  He'll  think  I've  been  neglecting  church  affairs 
lately  and  there's  something  I  want  to  ask  him  about  the 
organ  fund.  Have  you  got  a  minute,  my  dear?  " 

Husband  and  wife  went  out  together. 

A  prolonged  fit  of  coughing  heralded  their  return. 
Peggy,  scarlet-faced,  was  turning  over  some  music  on 
the  piano.  Jimmie  Hallett  was  lighting  a  cigarette. 
He  interpreted  the  twinkle  in  the  chief  inspector's  eyes 
and  met  the  situation  boldly. 

"  Menzies,"  he  said,  "  do  you  happen  to  know  how 
long  it  takes  to  arrange  an  international  marriage  in 
England?" 

[359] 


Menzies  produced  a  yellow-covered  book  from  under 
his  arm.  "  I  thought  you  might  need  Whitaker's  Al- 
manac," he  chuckled.  "  Pure  deduction,  without  any 
fake.  I  told  you  I  was  your  fairy  godfather,  didn't  I  ?  " 


THE    END 


[360] 


BOOTH     T  ARLINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     AskSfor  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

a^  •  =s 

SEVENTEEN.    lUustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
»'  the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.    Its  humor  is  irre- 
sistible and  reminiscent  of  the  tune  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu« 
morous,  tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  C.  E,  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re- 
volts against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love  of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  in  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

(THE  FLIRT.    lUustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  men  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

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KATHLEEN  NORRIS'   STORIES 

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MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  G.  Yohn. 

This  book  has  a  fairy-story  touch,  [counterbalanced  by 
the  sturdy  reality  of  struggle,  sacrifice,  and  resulting  peace 
and  power  of  a  mother's  experiences. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD. 
Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Gootes. 

Out  on  the  Pacific  coast  a  normal  girl,  obscure  and  lovely  j 
makes]  a  quest  for  happiness.  She  passes  through  three 
stages — poverty,  wealth  and  service — and  works  out  a 
creditable  salvation. 

THE  RICH  MRS.  BURGOYNE. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  H.  Hitchcock. 

The  story  of  a  sensible  woman  who^keeps  within  her 
means,  refuses  to  be  swamped  by  social  engagements,  lives 
a  normal  human  life^of  varied  interests,  and  has  her  own 
romance. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIATAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  Allan  Gilbert. 

How  Julia  Page,  reared  in  rather  unpromising  surround- 
ings, lifted  herself  through  sheer  determination  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

Rachael  is  called  upon  to  solve  many  problems,  and  ir 
Working  out  these,  there  is  shown  the  beauty  and  strength 
of  soul  of  one  of  fiction's  most  appealing  characters. 

Ask.    for  Complete   free  list  of  G.   &  D.   Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

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